Sherlock and Young John
by AspiringCatLady
Summary: Sherlock's solitary life is interrupted when his step-sister, Harriet Watson, dies and leaves him with her son, five year old John Watson. Sherlock wishes to get rid of the young boy as soon as possible, but John soon works his way into Sherlock's heart. Parent!Lock
1. Custody of John

Chapter One

Sherlock lowered his violin into his chair when he heard his phone ring. "Holmes," he answered in a bored voice.

"Sherlock, it's Lestrade. We, um… well your step sister, Harriet, was involved in a car crash. She's dead, Sherlock," Lestrade said in a strained voice.

Sherlock sighed. "Had she been drinking?"

"Yes," the Detective Inspector replied after a short pause.

"Okay. I guess I have to identify her?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah, Molly's waiting over at Bart's," he said. "Are you going to be alright?" Lestrade asked hesitantly.

"I'll be just fine," Sherlock replied dully. "We weren't close. I only see her a couple times a year," he said. He ended the call and put away his violin. As he left the flat, he muttered to himself, "This is going to mess up my week for sure."

* * *

"Oh! Sherlock, hi," Molly greeted as the consulting detective walked into the morgue.

"I'm here to identify my step-sister," he said. "Lestrade said you were expecting me."

"Yes," Molly nodded. She looked at Sherlock sadly. "I'm really sorry for your loss. If you ever need someone to talk-"

"I'm fine," he interrupted. "Just let me identify her. I have somewhere else to be," he said. He was fiddling with his riding crop, which he had left there from his last visit.

"Of course," she said quietly. She pulled back the white sheet over a corpse lying on the metal table in the corner of the room. Sherlock stood on the other side of the table of the body.

"Yes, that's her," he said, turning away. He could smell a hint of alcohol on the body. "Now that that's settled I'll be on my way. "

"Sherlock," Molly called after him. He turned and she blushed. "Listen, it's okay to show… _emotion _sometimes. You can talk to me about it if you want. Any time," she said quietly.

"Molly I told you I'm fine. Harriet and I didn't have the best of relationships. Now, I'm leaving," he answered rudely. He left Molly alone in the morgue.

* * *

Sherlock sat impatiently in the lawyer's office. Mycroft sat in a chair next to him, spinning his umbrella slowly. They watched as a fat bald man came into the room and sat behind a mahogany desk.

"Finally," Sherlock muttered. Mycroft smirked slightly.

"Let's get down to business," the lawyer huffed. He straightened a stack of papers on his desk. "You two are the brother's of Harriet Watson, correct?"

"Step-brothers," Mycroft nodded. "But, we were the only family she had."

"Yes, I'd assume so, since you two are the only people enlisted in the will. Well, the only adults at least," he grunted. It was obvious he had a heart problem. Most likely because of his weight. "Harriet was very well organized. She updated her will often."

"Can we just get on with this?" Sherlock asked. He rubbed his temples to stifle his headache.

"Fine," the lawyer looked at Sherlock with annoyance. "According to this, her home and the majority of her belongings were left to her only son, John Watson. He also received half of her fortune. The second half going to you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

"What?" Sherlock asked. His brows furrowed and he sat up in the leather chair. "Why would she leave me some of her money, when it could have gone to her son?" he questioned. It was oddly unlike Harriet, who cared very much for her son and not much for Sherlock.

"I'll get to that," the lawyer said with a secretive grin. "Mycroft, you were left with her stocks. And Sherlock, Harriet made it clear that if anything were to happen to her," he said distastefully,"that _you _would take custody of John Watson. That explains the money she left, now doesn't it?"

"No. No, there must be a mistake," Sherlock said after a moment of shocked silence. "There's no way she would've left her _kid _to _me. _Shouldn't we track down the father?" he asked, leaning his elbows on his knees.

"Dear, Brother. You know that Harriet never knew who the father was," Mycroft said in an almost mocking voice.

Sherlock sent his brother a glare. The lawyer shrugged and said, "If you do not want custody of the five- year old, than you could try to get a family member to take him in. Or, of course, there is giving him up for adoption, but that wouldn't be in his best interest." The bald man looked Sherlock up and down and added, "Or maybe it would."

Sherlock looked at Mycroft expectantly, who raised his hands in protest. "Don't look at me. I'm too busy with work to care for a child," he said. He pulled his buzzing phone out of his pocket. "Speaking of work, I'm needed, so I must be leaving."

"Please, sign this before you go," the lawyer pushed the stack of papers at Mycroft, his finger sitting on an empty line. "To say you agree to the will," he explained.

"Very well," Mycroft nodded. He pulled a pen out of his pocket and scribbled his signature on the line. He grinned at his younger brother and left the office.

"I need your signature, as well, Mr. Holmes," he said. He offered a pen to Sherlock, who grumpily signed under Mycroft's scribbled name.

"I guess I have no choice," he grumbled.

"Great," the lawyer picked up the stack of papers and set it in his desk drawer. "John Watson is currently being kept at a foster center in northern London. You'll need to pick him up."

"Fine," Sherlock snapped, leaving the office. He hailed a cab and headed regretfully to the foster center. When he arrived, he was given a stack of forms to fill out.

Sherlock filled out his last form and bitterly handed it to the foster center's receptionist. The red headed woman left the room and returned moments later with a small blonde boy. His messy hair fell all around his face and he stared up at Sherlock with his ocean-like eyes.

"John, you're going to be staying with your Uncle from now on," the woman said, standing on one knee. John nodded in understanding and walked up to Sherlock, dragging a small brown suitcase behind him. He was only as tall as Sherlock's knees.

"I remember you from Christmas," John said in a small voice. His face drooped with sadness.

"Yeah, I'm sure you do," Sherlock said irritably. He roughly grabbed the suitcase from John's hand and led him out the door. "Let's go," he told him. Sherlock looked briefly down the street to make sure there were no cars coming and walked across. As soon as he was a few feet on the asphalt, though, he looked down in shock. John was holding tightly his hand. "What are you doing?"

"Mummy said that not to cross the street by myself. She says that I should always hold someone's hand so that I'm safe," he said quietly.

Sherlock jerked his hand out of the small boy's grasp. "Well I don't hold hands," he said gruffly. He walked quickly to the other side of the street, but he felt John's grip on the bottom of his jacket. Sherlock couldn't help but feel a twinge of respect for John's persistence.

* * *

"Welcome to 221B Baker's Street," Sherlock said sarcastically when he and John entered the flat. He tossed the boy's suitcase on the ground and watched John. He crossed the threshold cautiously. His eyes combed over everything in the room. "You'll be sleeping in the guest room temporarily. I doubt you'll be staying here long."

John looked up at his new care taker miserably and sat on the sitting room's couch. "I'm hungry," he whimpered.

Sherlock looked at him with annoyance and said, "Then make something."

"Mummy said I'm not allowed to do stuff in the kitchen by myself."

"I really don't care what your mother said. In this house you can fend for yourself," Sherlock sighed. He sat in his recliner and pulled open his laptop. He started to type up a new entry on his website, 'The Act of Deducting Careers.'

John watched Sherlock silently for a moment, but then left the couch and entered the kitchen. "Where are the bowls?" he asked meekly.

"Cabinet next to the stove."

John pulled a chair from the nearby table next to the stove and carefully stood on it. He wobbled, trying to keep his balance. He stood on his toes and opened the cabinet, setting a bowl on the counter. He sat down and scooted off the chair, pushing it back to its original location. "Where's cereal?"

"Next to the refrigerator," Sherlock answered, trying to keep his patience. John pushed aside a jar of what he assumed were fake eyes to see two cereal boxes. He pulled out the one that looked the most appetizing. He opened it and tipped it over the bowl. The pieces of cereal piled over the rim of the bowl to make a mountain.

John opened the refrigerator and got the milk carton. He slowly started to pour it onto the cereal, but he lost his grip and it fell with a _clunk. _The milk drained onto the counter. John looked anxiously at Sherlock, who was walking to him.

Sherlock picked up the carton and tossed it in the trash, seeing as it was now empty, and tossed a towel on the puddles of milk. He shoved the cereal box back in its corner and dropped the bowl John had been using in the sink with annoyance. Quickly, he prepared a sandwich and handed it to John and returned to his chair.

"Thank you," John spoke.

Sherlock grunted slightly in response as he typed.

* * *

John went to the guest room early in the evening. As Sherlock headed to his own room, he paused. He stood near the door and heard soft crying inside. He felt conflicted about what to do. With a sigh, he entered the guest room. He was greeted by the sight of John curled under the blankets, his face scrunched and wet with tears.

When he noticed Sherlock in the room, John tried his best to stop crying. He scrubbed his eyes with the blue comforter and held his breath to stop the oncoming sobs. He sniffled loudly.

Sherlock awkwardly sat at the end of the bed. "I'm… I'm sorry that your mother died," Sherlock said. The bed shook with John's new wave of cries. Sherlock winced and tried to think of something better to say. "Look, I'm not a parent. I don't know how to take care of you," he roughly admitted. "It's going to be okay, though. Your mother's gone, but she loved you. She loved you very much."

John watched Sherlock, who was blurred by tears. He tried to keep his crying silent so he could hear what his uncle was saying.

Sherlock felt bad for John. The boy had lost his mother. He wanted to make him feel better, but he didn't know how. Sherlock felt an odd need to comfort the sobbing boy next to him. "Your mother loved you and she wouldn't want you to suffer because of this. If you don't want to stay here, we can find somewhere else for you to go."

"N-n-no," John managed to say through his sobs. He took a moment to stifle them before continuing. "M-Mummy always said you were nice… She s-said that you didn't seem it, b-but you're a good person. I want t-to stay with you," he trailed into silence.

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows in thought. Maybe Harriet had a reason for granting Sherlock custody of her son. They had spent many days together as children, but as Sherlock and Harry grew, they drifted apart. Perhaps she had liked him more than Sherlock thought.

"Okay," Sherlock said quietly. He turned off John's light and left the room, saying "Goodnight" before he left.


	2. Night Time Troubles

Chapter Two

"Sherlock?" John walked into the living room in his striped pajamas. "Sherlock, where are you?"

"What?" Sherlock asked. He was sitting at the kitchen table with his work spread out around him.

"What are you doing?" John asked curiously. He walked over and leaned his small chin on the table.

"I'm working. Do you need something? I thought you were going to bed."

"I can't sleep."

"And why not?" Sherlock asked, leaning away from his microscope.

"Usually, Mommy reads me a bedtime story before bed," John's expression was soft with sadness. He missed his mother and was feeling home sick.

With a sigh, Sherlock replied, "Do you want me to read you a story?" John nodded. "Come on then," Sherlock walked to the guest room and sat in a chair by the bed. John's padded feet thumped as he followed.

John reached into his small suitcase and pulled out a book. He handed it to Sherlock and crawled into the bed.

Sherlock wearily began to read in a monotone. "No," John interrupted. "You're not doing it right. You need to do the voices," his pleading eyes stared down Sherlock.

"John, I do not do voices," Sherlock said, rubbing his temples. "If you want a story, you will listen to it like this."

"Okay," John said somberly.

Sherlock read the picture book for John. John listened intently to every word and kept his eyes on Sherlock's face. Halfway through the story, John's eyelids began to droop. Slowly, he fell asleep. When his breathing evened out, Sherlock closed the book, left the room, and shut the door.

**.oOo.**

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock woke to John shaking his shoulder. "What?" Sherlock asked curtly.

Looking down at the ground, John sheepishly said, "I had a bad dream."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

"Could… could I sleep in here tonight?" John looked on the verge of tears.

"Fine," Sherlock said with a sigh. He scooted over in the bed to make room for John.

"Thank you." John said as he crawled underneath the blankets and curled up.

A few moments of silence passed. "What was your dream about?" Sherlock asked, curious and a tad bit concerned.

"My mum," was all John said. It was all he needed to say.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said genuinely.

When Sherlock awoke in the morning, he found John curled into his side. Sherlock surprisingly found comfort in John's presence. He began to think that taking care of him may not be such a bad thing.

**.oOo.**

This is the second chapter of Sherlock and young John's life. I know it's quite short, but I think it says what I want it to say. Please review and let me know what you think. I greatly appreciate any suggestions and advice given to me.


	3. An Ill John

Chapter Three

Sherlock woke up early, like usual, and started his morning routine. First, he picked up the toys John had scattered across the living room. Sherlock didn't know how John had _so many _toys. John had been living with him for several weeks, and Sherlock had yet to buy him anything other than food and necessities.

Next, he went to the kitchen and made breakfast. He prepared two breakfast sandwiches and set the table. This was the time John generally would come stumbling in, half asleep. But today, he didn't come. Sherlock waited for half of an hour, thinking the boy was just sleeping in, but he still didn't leave his room.

Sherlock, curious and worried, went to his nephew's room. He pushed open the door and felt dread wash over him as soon as he saw John. The boy looked up at him with red eyes and a nose dripping snot.

"Sherlock…" John moaned. "I don't feel good."

"Well," Sherlock corrected as a force of habit.

"Huh?" John asked with confusion.

Sherlock cleared his throat, "Never mind, it's nothing. What's wrong?" He made his way to the twin bed and sat on the edge of the comforter.

"I dunno," John mumbled. He looked on the verge of tears. "I just don't feel good."

Sherlock kept from correcting John's grammar, and instead rested a hand on the boy's forehead. He spent a moment observing John's condition, and then said with a sigh, "I think you have a cold. I'm guessing not too serious of one, but you should rest. I'll let you sleep."

Sherlock stood and left the bed, but John called out, "Wait!" Sherlock turned and John's face turned red. "I… I just um… don't want to be alone."

"Oh?" Sherlock asked with raised eyebrows. He stood in thought for a moment. "I guess I can stay in here with you until you fall asleep."

"No," John mumbled, shaking his head. To answer Sherlock's quizzical stare, he said, "I don't want to stay in my room."

"Why not?"

"Because," John grunted. Sherlock was starting to lose his patience.

"Fine," he agreed. "How about the couch? Would that be okay?"

John nodded. Sherlock pulled the blankets off of his nephew's bed and dragged them to the living room couch. He looked behind him, expecting to see John, but was greeted by an empty hallway. He walked back to John's room and saw him trying to stand straight. His knees were shaking incredibly fast.

"Do you need me to carry you?" Sherlock asked with tension in his voice. John looked helplessly at him. Sherlock picked the small boy up and walked him to the couch, setting him down gently.

"I'm cold," John groaned. He had a sheen of sweat on his forehead, but was shivering. Sherlock wrapped John with the blue blanket tightly and sat near his feet.

"Is that better?" the detective asked. He was starting to get a headache.

"Yeah… Can I watch the telly?" John asked with pleading eyes. Sherlock silently turned the television set on and changed it to the cartoon channel. John watched, mesmerized. Soon, his eyes slowly closed and Sherlock could hear the boy's breaths even out.

Sherlock carefully stood from the sofa, not wanting to wake John. He went to his room and closed the door, pulling out his mobile. Before he could convince himself it was a bad idea, he dialed Lestrade's number and waited out the rings.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade," he answered.

"Lestrade, it's Sherlock. Do you have experience with children?" he asked quickly.

"What? You mean like have a baby sat and taken care of them?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock grunted in affirmation. "Yes. You do know I have a daughter, right?"

"Really?" Sherlock was surprised. He didn't pay too much attention to Lestrade's personal life, but he didn't know how he could miss a fact like that. "Well, listen. John's sick with a cold. I've got him resting, but how to you care for a kid who's sick?" he felt desperate since he turned to Lestrade for assistance.

"A cold? Don't worry too much about it," Lestrade said awkwardly. "Make him drink plenty of fluids,"

"I'm not going to make him drink solids," Sherlock answered sarcastically.

"Ha. Ha," Lestrade said with an unamused tone. "Do you want my help or not?"

"Yes," Sherlock said quietly. He hardly knew how to take care of a child, let alone a sick one.

"Okay, then shut up and listen. Give him a lot of water and rest. Keep an eye out for a temperature, because you don't want this turning into the flu. And, I know this might be hard, but ask John what your sister did for him when he was sick. I'm sure if you take care of him like his mother did, he would be appreciative," Lestrade said.

"Okay. Thanks for the help," Sherlock said gruffly. He really disliked having to ask that DI for help.

Sherlock returned to the kitchen and sat next to John again. He sat there in his mind palace for an hour before John woke up.

"Sherlock?" John poked at Sherlock's thigh with his small foot. Sherlock pulled out of his mind palace and looked at the boy.

"Yes?" he asked.

"What- wh- what- ahchoo!" John sneezed all over the sofa and blanket. Sherlock wiped the dots of slime on his arm off with his sleeve.

"I'm guessing you don't feel any better?" Sherlock asked. He felt sympathy for John to have to go through this.

"No," John said somberly.

Sherlock rolled his next words around his mouth for a minute. He wanted to find a way to phrase it so that it wouldn't upset John. "John…" he began. "What did your mother do when you were sick?" he asked cautiously.

John smiled sadly. He watched his hands fiddle together. "We would watch movies all day. And she would sing to me. And read me books," he said softly.

Sherlock felt his heart contract at the pain on John's face. "I don't sing, but I could read to you," he offered to John.

John looked up at Sherlock with an odd expression. He smiled and said, "That'd be good."

Sherlock nodded and left the couch. He assessed the books on his bookshelves and found the only one (mildly) appropriate for a kid to hear. He avoided the books with gruesome murders and things that would likely give John nightmares.

"Would this be okay?" Sherlock asked, holding up the Tolkien book. John nodded. Sherlock sat on the sofa yet again, and John curled up in his side. He laid his head on his uncle's shoulder, and Sherlock wrapped one arm around the boy's back.

Sherlock cleared his throat and began to read. "This is a story of long ago. At that time the languages and letters were quite different from ours of today," he read soothingly.

John listened intently. He quietly gasped and 'aw'ed at the appropriate moments. Sherlock had already read a quarter of the pages when John fell asleep. He silently set the book down and looked at the small boy. His mouth had formed a small 'O' shape and had a bit of drool on the side of it. Sherlock wiped away the slobber and looked at John. He looked so small and fragile.

John's eyes fluttered softly and he stirred in his sleep. He didn't wake up, but he wrapped his arms around Sherlock's torso and held onto him tightly. Sherlock didn't want to disturb him, so he relaxed and fell into his own pleasant sleep.


	4. Sherlock and John Go Shopping

Chapter Four

Quick note: Most of these stories will probably be one-shots, but some may be connected. They may also jump around in the time stream, so please forgive me. Read and Review!

**.oOo.**

"Come on, John," Sherlock called from the side of the street.

A moment later, John came running out of 221B Bakers Street, "I'm ready."

Sherlock hailed a cab, "Take us to the mall." The cabbie grunted in response and began to drive.

"What are we buying today, Sherlock?" John asked curiously.

"I need to buy materials for experiments. You need new clothes and school supplies."

"Why do I have to go to school?" John whined. "I don't want to go. I want to stay home with you," John's bottom lip jutted out.

With a chuckle, Sherlock replied, "Do you not want an education? What job do you hoped to have when you become an adult?"

"I don't know. I think I want to be a doctor," John said.

"How to you expect to become a doctor without an education?" Sherlock asked.

"I guess you're right," John said with a pouty face. "But I'm not going to like it."

"Here we are," the cabbie said as the car pulled to a stop.

**.oOo.**

"Where are we going first?" John asked. He reached up and grabbed Sherlock's hand. Sherlock had gotten used to holding hands with John. John had always insisted on holding his hand so he wouldn't get lost. Sherlock even enjoyed the hand-holding a bit.

"To get my materials," Sherlock led John into a large, dusty shop. "Don't break anything."

"Okay," John replied. He explored the shop while Sherlock bought what he needed. John wiped dust off of a mason jar, to find eyes floating inside. He quickly set the jar down and returned to Sherlock. "This place is creepy."

"We're done here, anyway," Sherlock said as he took a large bag from a man behind the cash register. "Let's go get your clothes now."

Sherlock and John walked hand in hand to a nearby store, but before they reached it, John stopped in his tracks. "Can we get ice cream?" he asked excitedly.

"It will spoil your dinner," Sherlock said. He never thought he would be saying that.

"Please?" John begged.

"No, now let's go," Sherlock tried to grab John's hand, but John pulled away.

He grabbed Sherlock's coat and started pulling with all his weight down, all the while begging, "Please? I'll just have a bit! Please, Sherlock?"

People stared at the two as they passed by. Sherlock tried to pull John off of his coat, but the boy's grip was insanely strong. Not knowing what else to do, Sherlock gave in. "Fine. I'll buy you ice cream!"

"Yay! Thank you Sherlock!" John said gleefully as he skipped over to the ice cream vendor.

Sherlock bought John a small cone and sat down on a nearby bench with him. John ate his ice cream in silence as he kicked his feet back and forth, happily. Sherlock was beginning to feel the pressures of being a guardian.

"I'm done," John said sweetly, as if he hadn't just caused a giant scene.

"You have ice cream on your face. Hold still," Sherlock said as he wiped John's face with a napkin. John tried to squirm out of Sherlock's grasp. "Okay, let's go," Sherlock said.

**.oOo.**

"Do you like this?" Sherlock asked, holding up a brown shirt to John.

"No," John said. He ran over to a rack of clothes and picked up three striped shirts, "I like these."

"What's with you and stripes," Sherlock muttered. He and John picked out six other shirts and several pairs of pants. "Go try these on," Sherlock said, handing John the clothes.

"Do I have to?" John whined.

"Yes. The longer you complain about it, the longer we'll be here," Sherlock said.

John went into a changing room and came out wearing each set of clothes. He would stand in front of Sherlock, who would check to make sure the clothes fit him right, with a sour expression on his face. When they had finally reached the checkout line, both John and Sherlock were exhausted.

"We only need to get your school supplies now," Sherlock said. They rushed to another store and this time used a basket to carry their things.

"Can I ride in the basket? My legs hurt," John asked.

"I suppose," Sherlock replied. He stopped pushing the basket to lift John up. He sat him in the front of the basket and kept moving. Sherlock unfolded a list from his pocket. The list had everything that a kid needed before starting primary school.

Sherlock and John were silent as Sherlock began to fill up the basket with notebooks, pencils, paper, crayons, and other supplies.

"Can I get that pencil sharpener?" John asked, pointing at a globe shaped sharpener.

"I already got you a sharpener."  
"But it's not pretty," John said.

"John, what on Earth do you need a 'pretty' pencil sharpener for?" Sherlock asked wearily.

"But…Sherlock…" John's eyes began to shine with moisture and his lower lip began to twitch.

"Okay, I get you the sharpener!" Sherlock said quickly, hoping to avoid another tantrum.

"Thank you, Sherlock," John said with a smile.

**.oOo.**

John and Sherlock sat in the cab, their feet surrounded by shopping bags. Sherlock was estimating how long it would take to reach 221B Baker Street, thinking of every possible route. He was pulled out of his Mind Palace when a felt weight increase on his arm. John had fallen asleep. He had missed his nap due to all the shopping. As Sherlock watched his small chest rise and fall with breaths, he reflected on the day. Sure, John had been a handful, but all kids are. Sherlock knew that being a guardian– being a father– would be hard work, but he felt ready for it. He felt that it would all be worth it in the end.


	5. A Trip to the Zoo

Read and Review!

**.oOo.**

Chapter Five

Sherlock and John walked hand-in-hand to the zoo entrance. John had convinced Sherlock to take him to the zoo earlier in the week with help from a pouty lip and puppy dog eyes. John stood and watched the people around him as Sherlock bought the entrance tickets. "Give me your hand," Sherlock said. John reached his arm out to Sherlock, who bent down on one knee. In one fluid motion, he wrapped a wristband around John's arm, then one on his own.

They walked into the zoo and John's eyes bugged out of his head. "Woah," he gasped. "What's that Sherlock?" John asked is a high pitched voice. He ran up to an enclosure ahead.

"It's a polar bear," Sherlock said with a smile. It humored him how John was so amazed by ordinary things.

"It's so big!"

"Yes, it is," Sherlock said, imagining what John would do when he saw an elephant. "I think we should work our way around the park counterclockwise," Sherlock muttered to himself, observing a map.

Sherlock looked up to see an empty spot in front of him. The spot where John had just been standing. He looked up abruptly, trying to find John. His heart started to race, but when he looked at the ground, he could see a slight mud shoe print. The print matched perfectly to John's shoes. Sherlock ran after the shoe prints. The prints led him behind a large group of palm trees. Underneath the tree, John stood reaching for a butterfly resting on a large tree trunk.

"John!" Sherlock yelled. He bent down on a knee in front of John and took him by the shoulders. "Don't run off like that! You could get lost."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," John said, sounding confused. "I just wanted to…" John seemed unsure on how to end his sentence. He looked upset.

"It's okay. Just don't do it again," Sherlock said standing up and brushing off his knees. "Let's go look at the animals," Sherlock tried to lighten John's mood with a smile. John grinned in return.

**.oOo.**

"Ha ha! Look, Sherlock! You can see his butt!" John giggled, pointing at a baboon. Sherlock smile. "What's next?" John asked, shoving popcorn in his mouth.

"Giraffes," Sherlock replied. He and John continued down the path. Sherlock observed everyone around them. He watched all the kids run by, and then their parents follow, looking exhausted. He was watching one woman with three boys when John's footsteps faltered. He took a few steps forward, but then stopped completely. Sherlock looked down to see a petrified look on John's face.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked, concerned. John didn't answer him. Sherlock followed his gaze, which led to a giraffe eating leaves from a tree. "Are you scared of the giraffe?" Sherlock asked with a chuckle. John gave a short, tight nod. "There's nothing to be afraid of, look," Sherlock pulled John up to the fence in front of them. John hid behind Sherlock's leg, peaking his head around to look at the giraffe.

"Giraffes are overall a kind species. They only eat plants," Sherlock explained, leaning against the gate. "They have the long necks so that they can eat leaves off of trees." A giraffe started to walk in their direction. "Watch," Sherlock held his hand out far over the fence with a piece of popcorn in his palm. The giraffe saw him and walked over, interested. It sniffed his hand and then used its large lips to take the popcorn.

John giggled and approached the fence. The fear that had previously paralyzed him seemed to have melted away. "Can I try?" John asked Sherlock with a huge grin.

"Sure. Come here," Sherlock lifted John so he could reach over the fence. He placed popcorn in John's palm, "keep your fingers spread out and flexed towards the ground." The giraffe sniffed John's hand, "Keep still." The giraffe ate the popcorn.

"His mouth is furry!" John giggled. The giraffe began to walk away from the fence and back to a tree.  
"See? There's nothing to be scared of," Sherlock said, setting John back on the ground.

**.oOo.**

"Can I get ice cream?" John looked hopefully at Sherlock.

"What kind?" Sherlock asked, walking up to a vendor.

"Umm…" John stood on his toes and looked at the flavor menu, "Blue!"

"One blue ice cream," Sherlock told the man. He paid for the ice cream and handed it to John. John skipped as he ate. "Let's sit down while you eat that," Sherlock said, steering John to a bench. They sat there for ten minutes. John spent the time ranting about animals and things he saw on the television.

They spent three more hours at the zoo. John would always be amazed by how different the animals looked and acted. When he and Sherlock returned home, John's dreams were full of dancing ostriches, giraffes, elephants, and other zoo animals.


	6. The State Fair

Just a heads up, I may not be updating too much soon. I'm having kind of a hard time right now, but who knows, maybe I'll continue writing nonstop to keep my mind off things. R&R.

**.oOo.**

Chapter Six

Sherlock and John were sitting on the couch. Sherlock was going over a mental checklist with John. "Stay close. This event attracts thousands of people. It would be very easy for you to get lost in the sea of people," Sherlock said to John, who nodded his head. This was the third time Sherlock went over the 'list.' "Pay attention to your surroundings. If you know what to look for, people are easy to read. Don't take anything from people you don't know," Sherlock droned on for another few minutes. John sat quietly and pretended to listen.

This would be the first time John went to a state fair. When John had first mentioned it, he brought a flyer home from school. Sherlock tried to talk him out of going, but John threw tantrums. He threw a _lot _of tantrums. When John had finally convinced him to take him, Sherlock started to warn him about everything that could go wrong. Eventually, John just tuned out Sherlock's rants and educational speeches.

"So now that we've gone over this stuff again," Sherlock said, wrapping up his speech, "I think it's time to leave."

"Let's go!" John yelled with a grin. He bolted out the door.

"John," Sherlock said sternly, staring out the open door. John moped back to the threshold and looked at Sherlock and his crossed arms. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Umm," John racked his brain to try to remember everything Sherlock told him. "Well…"

"Jacket," Sherlock said. "If you don't think you can remember everything, maybe we shouldn't go."

"No!" John gasped, worried. "I remember! I was just playing! We need to go!" John pleaded.

"Okay," Sherlock said with a smile. He didn't expect John to remember everything. He liked being needed by him in cases like that, but he also wanted John's observational skills to improve.

**.oOo.**

Sherlock paid the cabbie that drove them to the fair. John's mouth fell open at all the things he could see. In front of them, a giant archway stood, towering the people. Behind the arch, booths, small buildings, and small rides stood. A large Farris Wheel dominated the scene. It looked to be about in the center of the park and was lit up like a rainbow.

"Sherlock, I wanna go on that," John said, tugging on Sherlock's coat to get his attention.

"Are you sure? It's really high up," Sherlock warned.

"I don't care. I wanna ride it."

"Okay. Let's look around first," Sherlock said. They walked into the park together. Sherlock held onto John's hand, not wanting him to wander off. In the time Sherlock and John had been together, he realized how easily distracted John could get.

"Cotton candy!" John yelled, pulling Sherlock to a blue and yellow booth. He looked with hopeful eyes at Sherlock.

"No, John. We just got here. If you eat that now, you'll get sick," Sherlock said firmly.

"But…but…" John's lower lip started to quiver.

"Don't even try it, John,' Sherlock warned. John's eyes started to widen and his lip was shaking incredibly fast. "Listen to me John," Sherlock said, bending on one knee in front of John, "You can't just throw a tantrum every time you don't get what you want. That's not how life works." A tear fell from John's eye. "If you throw a fit right here, right now, I still will not buy you cotton candy."

"But…"

"No." Sherlock stood up and stared at John. John nodded somberly, understanding that he would get nowhere with a tantrum. "If you're good, I'll buy you something later. But you have to behave," Sherlock said.

**.oOo.**

Sherlock and John walked down the alley of game booths. "Can I play that?" John asked, pointing at a basketball booth.

"No. It's rigged. The rims are bent ever so slightly so that it's nearly impossible to win."  
"Can I play that?" John asked, pointing at a 'Find the Red Card' game.

"What prize do you want?" Sherlock asked, walking over.

"The whale toy," John said, surprised that Sherlock said he could play.

"Okay, but I'm going to play. This game is rigged too," Sherlock warned.

"As long as I get the toy I guess," John said.

Sherlock paid the man in the booth. "See here? There are two black cards and one red card. I'm going to mix them all up and you try to pick the red card. If you pick the red card, you can choose a prize. Got it?" the man asked Sherlock with a grin.

"I'm not an idiot," was Sherlock's reply.

"Here we go," the man said. He began to mix the cards. "Where is the red card?"

"Up your sleeve," Sherlock said smugly.

"W-what?"

"The red card is up your sleeve. I told you I'm not an idiot," Sherlock grabbed the man's arm. He tried to pull it out of Sherlock's grasp to no success. Sherlock jerked up the sleeve and sure enough, a red card fell onto the table. "See?" Sherlock smirked.

"Woah," John said in awe. He had no idea how Sherlock noticed things like the man exchanging the cards.

"How dare you!" the man said, but then seemed to realize what would happen if Sherlock were to tell everyone his trick. "Fine! What do you want?" the man asked, his face red with anger.

"The whale."

The man took the whale and shoved it into Sherlock's arms. Sherlock handed it to a very happy John. As they walked away, John held onto Sherlock with one hand and clutched his whale in the other.

**.oOo.**

Sherlock and John approached the food booths. "What do you want to eat?" Sherlock asked, quickly adding, "That isn't just sugar. What do you want to eat that is actual food?"

John was disappointed about the 'actual food' part, but replied, "A pastry. Filled with Jam."

"Okay. Go sit at that table while I get the food," Sherlock said, pointing at a table nearby. John hopped up onto the bench connected to the table. Sherlock stood in line, looking over the menu. When he ordered, he asked for a Jam filled pastry and chicken fingers. He figured John would probably want more than just a pastry.

**.oOo.**

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Sherlock asked John as they stood at the front of the line for the Ferris Wheel.

"Yup," John replied, sounding very sure of himself.

"Okay," Sherlock said. He paid the worker behind a podium and John ran to the nearest cart. He and Sherlock sat in silence as other people boarded the wheel. John was practically bouncing in his seat when the wheel started to move. Their cart slowly began to rise, gaining speed. John ran excitedly from one side of the cart to the other. When they reached the top of the wheel, John stared in amazement at all he could see.

"Sherlock! Look at all the tiny people!" John yelled. "I can see 221 from here!"

"Sure you can," Sherlock muttered to himself. They were half an hour away from 221 Bakers Street. He knew John couldn't see it from here, but he didn't want to correct John when he was in such a state of excitement.

The wheel began to lower. John's head constantly twisted from side to side. When they exited the wheel, John stopped and looked at Sherlock. His smile seemed to be plastered onto his face. "Thank you for taking me, Sherlock. I know you don't like coming to places like this."

Sherlock smiled. He loved how polite and thoughtful John was. "I enjoy taking you places, John." Before they left the park, Sherlock bought John the biggest cotton candy that was sold in the park.


	7. Preparing for the Holidays

Just want to make a quick apology for the last chapter. I'm American, so I didn't think twice about sending Sherlock and John to a state fair. Feel free to correct me about any of my mistakes. This chapter will be two parts. Read and Review.

**.oOo.**

Chapter Seven

"Sherlock, when are we getting a Christmas tree?" John asked. It was three weeks until Christmas and a thin blanket of snow covered the ground outside.

"A Christmas tree? Christmas trees are pointless. Why would I want to bring a filthy tree inside my flat? A silly tradition created by the Germans," Sherlock said, continuing to mutter about the history of Christmas trees.

"Can we get a Christmas tree?" John asked, ignoring Sherlock's rant.

"Like I said, there's no point to them."

"But Sherlock…" John said, looking at Sherlock with large puppy-dog eyes.

"Why do you want a tree? Explain it to me." Sherlock put his hands together and leaned his chin onto his two thumbs and looked at John.

"Well," John began, "I just think we should have one. I've had one every Christmas since I can remember. It would mean a lot to me. Please?"

"I guess it wouldn't hurt," Sherlock said with a smile. "Want to go get one now?" he asked, feeling suddenly spontaneous.

"Yes!" John's eyes sparkled.

* * *

An hour later, Mrs. Hudson heard a knock at the door. When she opened the door, she saw a grinning John in a blue sweater with a matching hat. Behind him stood a large tree with arms wrapped around it. "Oh dear, Sherlock," she rushed to the side of the door, opening it wide. John bounded upstairs, leaving wet footprints on the stairs.

"Excuse me Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock grunted as he moved forward with the tree. He slowly pulled it up the steps, sweating with effort.

"You've gotten a Christmas tree this year!" Mrs. Hudson beamed up at Sherlock.

"Obviously."

"How wonderful! I'm going to bring some tea up and help you decorate the tree, dear! I have some ornaments left over; I'll bring those, too!" Mrs. Hudson said, bustling to her kitchen.

John ran around the tree, wrapping it in golden garland. John's face was lit up with joy. Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock sat on the couch, sipping tea, watching John. John proceeded to take a box of ornaments and started to hand the bulbs on the tree.

When all the ornaments were hung up, the majority of them on the lower section of the tree– at John's height– he grabbed the star. He strained to reach the top of the tree, even jumping, then turned to a bemused Sherlock for help.

"Need assistance?" Sherlock asked with a smile. John nodded.

Sherlock stood up and took the star. He had almost placed the star when John yelled, "Wait! I want to do it!"

Sherlock paused, then handed John the star. He placed his hands underneath each of John's armpits and lifted him with a grunt of effort. He held him up and John strained to put the star on the trees top. When Sherlock set John firmly on the ground again, they stepped back and assessed the tree. Mrs. Hudson plugged in the lights and joined them.

Sherlock grinned widely at the tree. The tree had about twenty ornaments below the half way point and about seven above. The lights shimmered off of the garland and ornaments. At the top, the star sat lopsided. John beamed up at the tree, proud of himself. The tree may not have been much, but Sherlock loved it. John had put so much effort into it and Sherlock loved it despite all of its flaws.

**.oOo.**

"What are you up to?" Sherlock asked John who sat hunched over a piece of paper on the table.

"I'm writing my letter to Santa," John replied without looking up.

"Huh. Santa," Sherlock muttered. He realized that he'd need to do extensive Christmas shopping this year. Generally, he bought really little–if anything–things for his co workers and neighbors. "When you finish with that, why don't you give it to me? I'll send it to Mr. Clause for you."

"Okay."

**.oOo.**

"John, I'll be back in a while. Mrs. Hudson is downstairs if you need anything," Sherlock called into the flat as he pulled on his jacket and scarf.

"Okay," John called from his room.

Sherlock wandered through the mall. He had John's list for Santa folded in his pocket. He walked from shop to shop, looking for something John would like. He pulled out the list and began to read. John explained that he had been very well behaved all year. He then asked for Santa to bring him more sweaters, various doctor supplies like a stethoscope, and a long list of books.

Sherlock loved how John was always reading. Harriet had taught him when he was very young. John always seemed to be carrying a book with him. Whenever he read, John would become part of the story. Sherlock went into a bookstore.

He bought four books for John. He then bought a book about analyzing crime scenes for Lestrade. Afterwards, he went into toy store nearby. He browsed the store, looking at all the stuffed animals, board games, and puzzles. He found a children's doctor supply set and bought it.

Sherlock spent another hour in the mall. He tried to find gifts that John would love. He bought presents for some of his acquaintances, co-workers, and Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock found himself feeling excited for Christmas. He had never liked Christmas too much, but this time was different. John's joy towards the holiday felt contagious.

**.oOo.**

Next Chapter: Christmas Celebration. John and Sherlock share their first Christmas together.


	8. The Holiday Party

Chapter Eight

"What are we doing for Christmas, Sherlock?" John asked from the couch, setting aside his book.

"I don't know. Is there something you would like to do?" Sherlock asked from behind a telescope. He muttered under his breath, "Trace amounts of hydrogen."

"I don't know. Maybe you could invite people over. I've never met any of your friends."

"I don't have friends," Sherlock said under his breath. Then louder, "I guess I could invite some of my colleagues over." ("Oh, look at that. Peroxide and sulfur.")

"Okay," John said contently, returning to his book

**.oOo.**

"It's Christmas!" Sherlock woke abruptly to John yelling in his face. He grunted and rolled over, pulling a pillow over his head. "Wake up Sherlock! Santa came!"

"Fine!" Sherlock snapped. John left the room Sherlock regretfully left his bed and dressed.

When Sherlock entered the living room, he found John practically bouncing on the couch. He wore a hideous green reindeer sweater and had a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. "Where did you get that sweater?" Sherlock asked, appalled.

"My mom got it for me," John replied. There was a flash of emotion in his eyes, but it vanished quickly. "Can I open my presents now?" John asked quickly. He started to pace near the Christmas tree, eying the stack of presents. "Please, Sherlock?"

"No. You'll have to wait until everyone else gets here. They'll be arriving around noon, so you'll have to wait two hours," Sherlock said firmly. The excitement in John's eyes deflated.

"Okay," John said with disappointment. "Can I have toast with strawberry jam today?" Sherlock didn't often allow John to have jam for breakfast. He was afraid that it would upsets John's stomach and make him ill.

"Yeah. It's the holidays after all," Sherlock replied, getting out supplies for John's breakfast.

The time passed very slowly for John. He tried to read, but was very squirmy. At one point, he ended up trying to read upside down on the couch. He tried to do a puzzle, but he didn't have the patience. He watched Sherlock work for a while. He looked over his shoulder at Sherlock's notes. Sherlock would point things out to him in the microscope, pointing out reactions of substances with other substances. John sat in front of the tree at 11:30, staring longingly at his presents.

_Knock Knock. _John jumped up from his sitting place and pulled open the door to 221B. Mrs. Hudson stood in the doorway. She had a floral scarf on, a basket of presents in one arm, and a food platter in the other. "Hello, dearie."

"Hi Mrs. Hudson," John said with glee. He moved out of the way so that she could come into the apartment. She set her basket down in front of the tree and the platter on the table–now cleared of Sherlock's experiments– and sat on the couch with Sherlock.

John ran over to the couch and looked expectantly at Sherlock. "No, John. You have to wait until _everyone _is here. Not just Mrs. Hudson." John's face fell with disappointment. Again. He took his seat by the tree once more.

"How sweet," Mrs. Hudson laughed. "I remember my son getting all excited for the holidays, he would sit by the tree for hours, shaking all his presents, trying to figure out what they were," Mrs. Hudson giggled.

"Mrs. Hudson, would you put the kettle on the stove?" Sherlock asked.

"Sure, dear," Mrs. Hudson replied, going to the kitchen.

"And could you make some biscuits while you're at it?" Sherlock called after her.

"Alright, but remember, I'm not your housekeeper!" Sherlock smirked. ("Oh dear! Eyes! Eyes in the fridge!)

The bell rang. John ran out the door and downstairs to let in the company. A moment later, John reappeared with Lestrade and Molly Hooper. Lestrade held a pie in his hands and Molly had a bag of presents. Both of them wore sweaters, each quite horrendous.

"Why is everyone wearing horrible sweaters?" Sherlock asked, not realizing he offended Molly.

"It's tradition. You wear ugly sweaters during the holidays and re-gift fruit cakes," Lestrade said with a chuckle.

Just as Molly and Lestrade had sat down, Mycroft entered the room. He had a sickly sweet smile on his face. "Brother."

"Mycroft. I don't recall inviting you," Sherlock said coldly.

John turned away from the tree and looked at Mycroft. He didn't know who he was, but he knew he had seen him before. After a moment of recollection, he realized that he and Sherlock were brothers. He remembered his mother saying something about them.

"Sherlock," John said from his spot on the floor, "be nice." Everyone stared at him. John didn't believe in sibling rivalry. He never had a brother or sister, but he wished he had. He knew that Sherlock was not treating Mycroft the way a brother should treat a brother.

"Brother, dear. How much I have missed you," Sherlock forced out, trying to hide the sarcasm. The guests stared in shock at Sherlock. Had that five-year-old John Watson just told Sherlock to be nice–and Sherlock listened?

"John, you may open your presents now," Sherlock said with a clear of his throat. Mrs. Hudson returned to the room with tea and biscuits just as John tore into his first present. John found that 'Santa' had brought him a doctor's play set. John continued to rip open the many presents, reacting with excitement to each of them. Everyone watched him, watching the childhood innocence and joy. They all enjoyed it, but none more than Sherlock. He hadn't had many happy holidays as a child, but he was glad that John did.

"You seem happier," Lestrade told Sherlock. The rest of the guests were busy in their own conversations to notice theirs. "Since you've taken in John, you haven't been at Scotland Yard as much. Don't get me wrong, we appreciate your work, but I'm happy about that. You used to be so cold. There was a time when I hardly believed you had any emotions. The way you smile at John, it's pure. Not like you just solved a murder, but like you are _genuinely_ happy."

Sherlock was unsure of what to say. "I don't think you know what you're talking about."

Lestrade just laughed. He knew he was right, but Sherlock just didn't want to admit it. He had noticed an extra bounce in his step. He noticed that Sherlock was no longer saying heartless things all the time. He could see in his eyes that Sherlock loved John. Sherlock and John had formed a special bond. Sherlock felt like a father, but there was no way he would admit it, especially to Lestrade.


	9. Furlock

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**.oOo.**

Chapter Nine

"Sherlock?" John called into 221B, peaking his head into the room. When no response came, John crept into the apartment and into his room. He closed his door and set down his squirming bag, "It's safe to come out," John said. A black kitten came stumbling out of the bag.

"I'm going to get you some milk!" John ran into the kitchen and poured milk into a saucer. On the counter he found a note:

Lestrade needs me at work. I'll be gone for a couple of hours. There are sandwiches in the refrigerator for you. Call Mrs. Hudson if you need anything.

-SH

John smiled. He ran back into his room with the milk. He set it down on the floor and the kitchen bounced off of the bed to get to it. He crouched and drank the milk. Giggling, John said, "I'm going to call you… Furlock!"

John hopped up and pulled a ball of twine out from his desk. "Look Furlock! I've got string!" Unraveling the twine, John laid on his stomach next to Furlock. He spent the time until Sherlock came home laughing and watching Furlock pounce on the string.

**.oOo.**

"John, I'm home," Sherlock took off his coat and hung it up. He paused, hearing giggles from John's room. "John?" No response.

Sherlock walked to John's room, pushing open the door. "Sherlock, look who I found on the way home today!" John said with a grin.

"A cat? Why did you pick it up?" Sherlock ask, not amused. John sat up from his stomach and pulled the kitten in his lap.

"Because he didn't have a home. He was just wandering all alone outside," John said, face dropping.

"We can't keep a cat, John," Sherlock said, exasperated.

"But… Furlock has nowhere else to go," John's lower lip began to tremble.

"What did you say? _Fur-lock?"_

John nodded. "That's what I named him. Furlock."

Sherlock had to stifle a chuckle. He didn't want to lose his strong demeanor by laughing. "John, cats are a lot of work."

"I'll take care of him! I'll feed him! I'll do everything, Sherlock!" John pleaded. "Please Sherlock? Please?"

Sherlock rubbed his temples. He looked at John and the wiggling kitten. With a sigh, "You'll take care of it?"

John's face lit up with joy, "Yes! I'll do everything. You won't have to lift a finger!"

"You'll feed it, you'll clean its litter box, and you'll clean up any messes it makes, right?"

"Yes! Of course!"

"Okay. You can keep it," Sherlock said turning out of the room. Behind him he heard John laughing and talking to the cat. Sherlock smiled to himself. He knew that he would have to take care of it, but he admired how determined John was. What could be the harm?


	10. Sherlock and the Flu

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**.oOo.**

Chapter Ten

Sherlock was sprawled out of the couch. He had the flu. John came bounding in the room, but stopped short when he saw Sherlock. "Are you okay, Sherlock?" John asked, worried.

"I'm fine. It's just the flu," Sherlock had to stop to cough. "Do you think you could get breakfast yourself?"

"Yeah," John said, still worried about Sherlock. "Do you want something?"

"No. Just make some for yourself."

"Okay." John went to the kitchen, still watching Sherlock. When he finished eating his breakfast of oatmeal, he ran into his room. Sherlock began to doze off. However, Sherlock was pulled from his stupor by the feel of something cold on his forehead. He opened his eyes to find John in one of Sherlock's lab coats holding his toy stethoscope to Sherlock's head.

"John, why don't you go downstairs and play with Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock asked with a weak smile. He really didn't want to snap at John. He just wanted to rest until he was better.

"No," John said stubbornly. "I'm a doctor. I'm going to make you better."

"John…" Sherlock started, but he just closed his eyes. It was obvious John wasn't going to leave. He could be so stubborn sometimes.

"I've got an idea!" John said, holding up his finger. He ran into his room again. Sherlock opened his eyes when he felt added weight on his side. Furlock was sitting on Sherlock, where John had put him. "Furlock always makes me feel better," John said with a grin.

"That's okay, John. Why don't you go play with Furlock? I'm sure he'd like to play and not to sleep," Sherlock said, trying to get John to leave him alone. John didn't get the message.

"No, it's fine. Furlock will make you better." John hopped into the chair adjacent to the couch. He sat with his chin in his hand trying to figure out how to cure Sherlock.

Sherlock closed his eyes and ignored John. He shivered. Although he was covered in a sheen of sweat, he was freezing cold. He heard John's feet run farther into the apartment, then return again. He felt a blanket drop onto him. "Thanks John," Sherlock said, not bothering to open his eyes. He broke into a coughing fit. His whole body ached. He wasn't used to being sick. He had a great immune system and hardly ever caught anything.

Sherlock fell into a light sleep. He would awake about every twenty minutes because of shivers, coughs, or a runny nose. Each time he woke up, he would see John sitting against the couch reading a book. He never left Sherlock's side as he slept.

The last time Sherlock woke up–because of a cough– John was getting up. He had pulled open the door when Sherlock asked, "Where are you going, John?"

"Mrs. Hudson's," he replied. He hadn't realized Sherlock had woken up. Sherlock grunted in response and rolled over on the couch.

John proceeded to leave the flat and go to Mrs. Hudson's. He knocked on her door, "Hello, dear, come in. Where's Sherlock?" she asked looking at the empty hallway.

"Sherlock's sick," he said. "I need to make him better. Do you have any soup?"

"Oh how sweet," Mrs. Hudson gushed. "I do have some canned soup. Let me heat it up for you. Just have a seat. Would you like anything?"

"No, but thank you," he said, sitting on her couch.

In the kitchen Mrs. Hudson was ranting about how sweet and polite John was, how her son once did a similar thing for her, and how Sherlock always needs someone, even if he can't admit it. "Here you go, John," Mrs. Hudson gave John a covered bowl wrapped in a dish cloth. "Tell Sherlock to get well for me."

"Okay," John said with a smile. He slowly went upstairs, trying to keep a good hold on the soup. When he reached the door to the flat, he was unsure of what to do. He finally decided to set the bowl on the floor so he could open it. When he set it on the ground, though, a bit of the soup poured out through an unsecure part of the lid. "Oops."

He managed to get the rest of the soup into the apartment without spilling anymore. He set it in front on Sherlock, whose back was turned towards him. "Sherlock. I brought you soup," John said, nudging Sherlock.

Sherlock jumped slightly. John had pulled him out of a half sleep. He smiled at John standing next to the soup. John's look of concern lessened when Sherlock sat up and took the bowl of soup. Sherlock slowly sipped at the soup, not because he was hungry, but because John went through all the trouble of getting it. The soup did, in fact, help Sherlock feel better. The next day he was himself again. John was very proud of his 'medical skills' that cured Sherlock.


	11. Mycroft the Babysitter

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* * *

Chapter Eleven

"Mycroft, I need you to watch John for me today," Sherlock said on the other line.

"No way, Sherlock," I refused. "Give him to Mrs. Hudson."

"Mrs. Hudson is out visiting her son today. Mycroft I just need you to watch him this one time. Lestrade has a double homicide for me. There's no way that those idiots can solve this by themselves."

"I said no, Sherlock."

"I'll be over in a few," Sherlock said, ending the call.

Sherlock and John stood in the doorway. "John, I'll be back in a few hours. I'm sorry, but you'll have to put up with Mycroft for several hours." He turned to me, "Thanks for watching him."

"I never agreed to this."

"That's why I'm thanking you," Sherlock said with a grin. "Bye, John," Sherlock left and closed the door behind him.

John and I stared at each other for a moment. "What are we going to do?" John asked.

"I _don't _know."

"Hm," John looked around my house. With a sigh, I traveled to the living room. John followed and sat on the couch next to me.

We sat in silence. _My idiot brother. _I cannot handle children. They are obnoxious snot machines. I practically raised Sherlock, that was enough 'parenthood' to last a lifetime.

"What do you do?" John asked.

"What?" I was pulled out of my thoughts by the question.

"What do you do? Where do you work?"

"I work for the government." _It was going to be a long, long day._

"What do you do with the government?"

"That's none of your business."

"Okay." John replied. More silence. "Do you have any games? Like monopoly or something?"

"No."

"What do you do for fun?" John asked.

With an annoyed sigh I said, "I don't do _fun_. I work."

"I'm hungry," John said boredly.

"Fine, come on," I stood up and made my way to the kitchen. John's footsteps could be heard behind me. "What do you want?" I asked as we stood in the kitchen.

"What do you have?" John questioned. He sounded a little happier now that I was doing something.

"Sandwiches, cereal, toast, waffles, macaro–"

"I want spaghetti," John interrupted.

"Spaghetti?" Of course John would want to make me work. He was just like Sherlock when he was a kid. "I guess that'll be okay," Hopefully, if John got what he wanted, he would leave me alone until Sherlock came home.

I made the spaghetti. John hovered over me the whole time, asking if he could help, how much longer it would take, and ranting about school. Eventually, I tuned him out. That kid was starting to give me a headache.

* * *

"Will you play with me?" I lowered my newspaper at the sound of John's voice.

"No," I said, raising the paper again.

"Please?" John begged. He came and rested his chin on my chair's armrest.

"No," I pulled leaned away from him.

But then his lower lip began to tremble. His eyes started to widen and shine. I knew what was coming next. "Fine," I said hurriedly, wanting to avoid a tantrum. "What do you want to play?" I set my paper aside.

John's face lit up and he smiled, "Cops and Robbers. I wanna be the cop."

I slowly rose from my chair, exasperated. John ran into the backyard, waiting for me to follow him. We played 'Cops and Robbers' for half of an hour, until Sherlock returned. When Sherlock saw John 'arresting' me, he almost fell over laughing. Children are quite annoying.


	12. Halloween

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* * *

Chapter Twelve

"Sherlock? So you have any boxes I can use?" John asked across the table.

"Yeah. I just received more hands for my experiments. The box is in the living room." John's face scrunched in disgust at the thought of severed hands. He was about to head the the living room when Sherlock added, "What are you going to do with the box?"

John paused, "I'm gonna make my Halloween costume."

"What are you going to be?" Sherlock asked. He imagined all the possible things John could make with the box.

"I'm gonna be a robot!" John said with a grin.

* * *

"Sherlock?" John called from the main room. Sherlock abandoned the severed hand he was testing on the counter and made his way to John's voice. He entered the room to see John sitting on the floor. He had paper glued to various different parts on his sweater vest. His arms were decorated with colorful marker stains.

With a chuckled, Sherlock asked, "Do you need some help?" John answered with a somber nod.

Sherlock sat next to John on the floor and straightened the box so it would stand up. A lopsided square was drawn with blue marker. Inside the square were circles (with very squiggly lines) that were supposed to be buttons. Around the square were a series of 'buttons' and wavy lines.

Sherlock aided John in improving the costume. He didn't help too much, though. He wanted John's work to dominate the project. He wanted his hard work to show. Plus, John's lopsided costume was quite adorable.

* * *

It was Halloween. John had been anticipating the day for a week and a half. Sherlock and John were just about to leave 221B. John was dressed warmly underneath his box. The box couldn't necessarily be recognized as a robot, but both Sherlock and John loved it. The most 'robot' part of the costume was the hat. The hat was a grey bowl. On the bowl were two Popsicle sticks (of different lengths) painted grey. Two white fuzzballs topped the sticks. The sticks looked like antennas.

Sherlock was dressed up as well. After much begging on John's part, Sherlock had finally agreed to dressing up as a pirate for Halloween. He wore regular jeans and a red and white striped shirt. The shirt had sleeves which were cut in a 'zig-zag' pattern and had a subtle V-neck. On his head, Sherlock wore a bandanna which matched his shirt. His right eye was covered with a black skull-and-cross-bones eye patch.

Sherlock and John traveled up and down Baker Street, collecting candy. John would stop and beg Sherlock to allow him to eat his candy every now and then. Sherlock always refused.. He wanted to check all of John's candy for tampering before they could be eaten. By the end of the night, John had almost three bags full of candy. Sherlock would have a _lot _of candy to check.


	13. Oasis Pools

Chapter Thirteen

"Sherlock? Can we go swimming?" John asked. The week had been unusually hot and John was bored.

"Where at?" Sherlock asked. He wasn't really thrilled by the idea of going to a pool.

"I don't know. What pools are around here?"

"I don't know," Sherlock responded, even though he did know of a few.

"Come on, Sherlock. Please?" John pleaded with a whiney voice.

He knew John was going to be persistent, so with a sigh Sherlock said, "I guess we could go to the Oasis."

"Okay! I'll go get ready!" John yelled over his shoulder as he ran to his room. Furlock ran after him, curious about what he was up to.

* * *

About half an hour later, Sherlock hear John walking down the hall. When he appeared, he was carrying three noodles, a water gun, a rubber duck floaty, and a beach ball. He tossed them on the ground with a grunt of relief. He smiled up at Sherlock.

"Where did get all this stuff?" Sherlock asked. He sure hadn't bought any of it.

"Oh, you know. I just sorta found it," John said with a grin.

"Okay, well, let's go," Sherlock began to pick up the water toys.

"Wait a minute, Sherlock. Aren't you going to swim? Where's your cozzy?"

"I'm not going to get in the pool."

"But Sherlock, I'll be all alone!" John said.

"I just don't want to swim today, John," Sherlock replied in a tired voice.

"Sheeeerlock! Pleeeease?"

"No Jo―"

"Pleeeeease?" John interrupted.

"Fine!" Sherlock said, exhausted. "Wait here." He went into his room and changed into his swimming costume and a plaid shirt. "Let's go."

Together Sherlock and John collected the pool toys and left 221B. Sherlock hailed a cabbie, who was not happy with all the toys, and they left for the Oasis pools. The entire ride to the Oasis, John was practically bouncing with excitement.

John ran into the building and through the men's bathroom. "Slow down! You'll slip," Sherlock called after him, trying to avoid running into the men in the restroom. When he finally reached the exit, he walked out to the pool and saw John sitting on the ground.

On closer inspection, Sherlock found that John was clutching his knee and his eyes were filled with tears. Sherlock set down the noodles and floaty and crouched in front of John. "Did you fall? Let me see," he removed John's hand and assessed the damage. Other than a few scrapes, John was fine.

"How is it?" John asked with a shaky voice. He had closed his eyes so he couldn't see his knee.

"You see? This is why I told you to slow down," Sherlock scolded. John's eyes opened and welled up with more tears. "You're fine. You just scraped yourself a little," Sherlock said with a lighter tone. He stood up and helped John to his feet.

John wiped furiously at his eyes, determined not to cry. Sherlock, wanting to make him happy, offered, "Do you want me to swim with you?"

John's face immediately brightened. The previously oncoming tears seemed to evaporate, leaving only a happy boy. With a huge grin and a nod, John exclaimed, "Yeah!"

"Okay, let's put away our stuff first," Sherlock said, collecting the toys once more.

Sherlock and John set their belongings on two lawn chairs. They each took off their shirts, leaving them only in their swimming costumes.

John grabbed a red pool noodle and pulled Sherlock by the hand to the pool's stairs. "Sherlock, let's get in! You can share my noodle if you want."

"No thanks," Sherlock said with a chuckle. He and John slowly began to descend into the water, stopping every step to adjust to the temperature.

"Oooh, it's cold!" John giggled.

* * *

John and Sherlock traveled to the far end of the pool. Sherlock could stand on his own, but John had to stay afloat with his noodle.

"Sherlock! I want to go down the slide!" John said with excitement. He started with wide eyes at the large blue twisted slide.

"Do you think you can do it?" Sherlock asked. The slide was pretty big and it let out into the deep end of the pool. "You can't take your noodle in with you. You have to swim when you get out of the slide," he warned.

"I can do it! Can I go? Please?" John asked.

"If you think you can, then go ahead. I'll be waiting at the end for you," Sherlock said with a smile.

John rushed to pool ladder and got out, dripping water. He ran (slowly so he wouldn't fall) to the line at the slide, climbing up the tall ladder. There were about eight kids in front of him, all looking to be at least nine years old. John waited in line silently. He fidgeted with his hands and shifted his weight from foot to foot. Each time a kid went down the slide, he would crane his neck to watch them come out and splash into the water.

Finally, it was John's turn. He stood at the top of the slide, staring into the dark hole. He could hear the water crashing at the bottom of it. He looked up nervously at the lifeguard. She smile at him and told him, "You can go now." John's shaking hands gripped the iron bar attached to the slide. He took a deep shaky breath and lowered himself into the slide. With a sudden burst of courage, he pushed himself forward.

He let out a squeal as he slid down the dark slide. His heat rate sped up as he twisted blindly with the shape of the slide. His bare back could feel every bump in the plastic. John stared forward, searching for the end. A dim light began to get closer and closer. John took a deep breath and held it, preparing to reach the water.

John shot out of the slide. For a moment, John was flying. Then, he plunged into the water. He kicked his feet, trying to float up. But everywhere John looked was blue. He couldn't tell what was up and what was down. He flailed his arms, hoping he could reach the surface. No matter how hard he kicked, he couldn't find air.

John was anxious now. His eyes were burning from the chlorine, and his lungs felt like they were going to burst. Without realizing it, John released all the air he was holding and took a giant gulp of water. He felt something on his arm. The something lifted John above the water.

John gasped for air and coughed at the same time. When his eyes focused, he saw Sherlock holding his arm. Sherlock's face was masked with worry. "John! Breathe!"

John nodded, trying to stop his coughing. He slowed his breathing. After a minute, John felt better. Not great, but better. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock. Sherlock slowly worked his way to the end of the pool and carried John to their chairs. He sat John down.

"John? How do you feel?" Sherlock asked. He still looked nervous and concerned.

"I'm okay," John said. He was shaking and his thought process wasn't very clear.

"I think it's time to go. Are you okay with that?"

John nodded. Sherlock gathered the toys and looked to John. John slowly stood and started to walk, but he lost his balance and almost fell over. He looked up to Sherlock, not wanting to ask, but he understood.

"Come here," Sherlock said, bending over and opening one arm. John climbed up and wrapped his arm around Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock made his way out of the Oasis sluggishly, one arm full of pool toys, and John in the other arm.


	14. Mary Morstan

**Chapter Fourteen**

John and Sherlock sat at the table eating breakfast. John asked, "Sherlock, can I have a friend come home from school today?"

"Hmm? A friend? Sure, Why not," Sherlock replied. "Who are you inviting?"

"Her names Mary Morstan," John said happily.

"I look forward to meeting her."

* * *

Sherlock was lying across the couch, deep in thought. He heard the door open and two sets of feet come into the room.

"Sherlock, we're home," John said. Sherlock opened his eyes to see John standing next to the couch. He sat up right on the sofa and crossed his legs. Standing behind John was a short blonde haired girl.

"Mary, this is Sherlock. Sherlock, this is Mary," John said, gesturing between the two.

"Hi," Mary said with a small wave to Sherlock.

"Hello." Sherlock looked her up and down. He refrained from deducting out loud. He didn't want John to be angry with him.

"Sherlock, we're gonna go do our homework, okay?" John asked. Sherlock nodded in agreement. John picked up his backpack from the ground. "Come on, Mary."

Sherlock laid back down when John and Mary had left the room. Sherlock smiled to himself. This was the first friend John had brought home. He was glad that John was making friends at school. Also, he knew that John and Mary weren't doing homework as they claimed. Sherlock could hear them giggle as they played with Furlock.

* * *

John rushed to the Sherlock, still on the couch. Mary didn't follow him. "Sherlock," he asked, taking him out of his thoughts, "Sherlock?"

"Huh?" Sherlock asked, irritably. "What do you need?" he tried to sound nicer as he said this.

"Can Mary stay for dinner?" John asked hopefully.

"Will her parents mind?"

"No," John answered.

"Then sure. I'll have Mrs. Hudson prepare something," Sherlock said. John thanked him and ran back to his room.

* * *

"Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock called as he entered her flat.

"Yes dear?" she asked as she entered the room.

"I need you to cook some food. Enough for three people. Or four, if you want to join. I don't really care what you make," Sherlock said. He picked up a biscuit from a plate on her table. "And some biscuits would be good, too.

"Okay, dear, but just this once. I'm not your housekeeper," she replied as she took ingredients from the refrigerator. "Who's the third person? Did you finally find a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend?" she asked.

"No. John brought a friend home from school. A girl named Mary," he answered.

"Oh how wonderful!" Mrs. Hudson said. Sherlock blocked out her ranting.

* * *

"John," Sherlock called, "dinner is ready."

"Coming," John replied from his room. A moment later, he and Mary arrived and took their seats at the table. "What are we eating?"

"Chicken and potatoes," Sherlock said, setting plates in front of John and Mary. "Is that alright Mary?"

"Yes," she said in a soft voice. "I really like chicken. Thank you for making it."

"I didn't. This is all courtesy of Mrs. Hudson."

They ate in silence for several minutes. "Sherlock, you should've seen Furlock," John said, trying to make conversation. "He was doing flips, trying to catch the yarn we had."

"Yeah! It was really funny!" Mary giggled.

"Really? That sounds amusing," Sherlock smiled. "So how's school going?"

"Great," John said. "My teachers are really cool. Yesterday we made ora―oge―orma―"

"Origami," Mary helped out. ""We made origami stuff."

"Yeah," John blushed. "I made a dog and a whale. Mary made a really cool snail!"

Now Mary's face was red, "It wasn't that good."

Sherlock grinned at John and Mary's interactions. Dinner went over smoothly. They continued to make small talk. When they were finished eating, John and Mary actually did their homework and eventually Mary's father picked her up.

* * *

Really short chapter, but I'm basically just using it to introduce Mary to the story. Also, if anyone's interested, on my deviantART page (which can be found on my profile) I will be uploading pictures to go with some of the chapters.


	15. Father's Day

Chapter Fifteen

John was sitting cross-legged on his bed. His tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth as he cut the blue paper in his hand. His eyes kept on flickering to his door, making sure Sherlock didn't enter the room. John didn't want him to see his Father's Day gift.

Furlock purred in John's lap as tiny pieces of paper stuck to him. "I've gotta make thing really good, Furlock," John said as he cut. "I have to make sure Sherlock will like it." John sloppily spread glue on the back of the freshly cut heart. He pressed the blue heart on a white sheet of paper. He continued to make adjustments to the card throughout the day as he had more ideas.

* * *

John woke up bright and early. He woke before Sherlock did, so he could give Sherlock a 'Father's Day Breakfast.' John quietly tip toed his way to the kitchen, not wanting to wake up Sherlock. He half-carried, half-dragged a chair up to a cabinet and stood on it. Carefully, he set plates, the jar of jam, and bread on the counter.

John scooped spoonfuls of jam onto the bread (he wasn't allowed to use knives). He poured two cups of milk, managing to not spill too much. One by one, he carried the plates and cups to the table. When he heard Sherlock's door open, he sat down and interlocked his hands. Sherlock walked into the kitchen, passing by the dining room. A moment later, he walked backwards out of the kitchen and paused at the entrance to the dining room. John sat with a large grin on his face.

Sherlock's face brightened as a smile played across his lips. With a chuckle, he asked, "You made breakfast? What's this for?" He sat down next to John.

"It's for Father's Day," John beamed as he began to cut his toast. A wave of emotions crossed Sherlock's face. John was honoring him on Father's Day?

"Really?" Sherlock's grin grew. "Thank you, John," he said, genuinely happy.

"Oh! I made you a card, too!" John said as he remembered. He jumped up from his seat and ran to his room. A moment later he returned, waving a folded piece of paper. "Here you go!" John handed Sherlock the card, his hand smudging jam on it.

"Wow…," Sherlock said as he looked at the card. It was a white piece of paper with a blue heart glued to it. The blue heart was lumpy from the uneven glue on the back and a smile was drawn in crayon across the middle. In bold, sloppy letters 'Happy Father's Day' was written around the heart. Sherlock opened the card. Inside was a picture John drew of him and Sherlock together. "Thank you," Sherlock said awkwardly.

* * *

Sherlock and John spent the day together. Sherlock told Lestrade not to bother him with any cases. He and John went to the cinemas and to the mall. After the film, they browsed the shops. Sherlock took John to a toy store.

"Do you want anything?" Sherlock asked as John walked passed shelves. He felt like he should buy John something to show appreciation or something.

"Hmmm, I don't know. It's Father's Day. You should get something for yourself," John said. He paused at a shelf with stuffed animals.

"Really, I'll buy you something, John. I really don't mind. It's been a while since you've gotten a new toy anyway," Sherlock said, leaning against a glass case. John was holding a stuffed hedgehog in his hand. He looked up at Sherlock with an expression of regret and hope.

"Do you want that?" Sherlock asked, taking the plushie.

"Kind of. But you don't have to get it for me, if you don't want to," John mumbled, staring at the ground and shuffling his feet. Sherlock bought the toy for John.

* * *

John was lying under his blankets, his new hedgehog tucked in his inner elbow. Sherlock had just finished reading a bed time story about a hen and a cow.

"Good night John," Sherlock said, pulling the blankets up to John's neck. He set the book on John's bookshelf and turned out the light.

Just as he was about to pull the door shut, John stopped him, "Sherlock?"

"Yeah?" Sherlock asked, stepping into the room again. The light from the hallway shined on John's hair.

"Umm… Never mind," he said in a small voice.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock hesitated.

"Mmhmm," he hummed.

"Okay," Sherlock started to leave again, pulling the door shut.

"Sherlock," John said. Sherlock paused silently. "I love you, Sherlock," John mumbled with embarrassment.

"…I love you, too," Sherlock choked out. He closed the door and went to his room. John had just given him the best Father's Day present. Sherlock really did love John. He never really realized before, but John was like the son Sherlock never had. That night, Sherlock fell asleep with a smile on his face.


	16. The Case of the Missing Frying Pan

Chapter Sixteen

Yesterday had been 'Bring your Son to Work Day.' Sherlock had allowed John to miss the Friday at school and go with him to Scotland Yard. Sherlock, who had briefed Lestrade before the day, and John were given a case involving a jewelry store robbery. Sherlock solved the case before lunch time and John was amazed by his detective skills.

Today, John was determined to solve mysteries like Sherlock did. He wanted to be the world's second Consulting Detective. John bounded into the main room, looking for a crime to solve.

"What are you up to?" Sherlock asked from the couch, staring at a laptop screen.

"I'm gonna solve crimes!" John yelled, punching the air with a small fist. He was bursting with energy.

"Really?" Sherlock asked, hiding his amusement. "What crimes are you going to solve, Detective Watson?"

John giggled at being called a detective. He paused and thought about Sherlock's question for a moment. "I don't know," he said, enthusiasm draining.

"Well, you know, I heard Mrs. Hudson complaining about a missing frying pan," Sherlock hinted.

"Yeah! I'll go there!" he yelled, rejuvenated.

"Tell Mrs Hudson to bring me some tea!" Sherlock yelled after John who was halfway out the door.

* * *

"Mrs. Hudson?" John asked as he walked into her living room.

"Yes? Oh hello, dear! Do you need something?" she asked with a smile.

"Sherlock told me you were missing a frying pan…"

"Oh, yes. I don't know where that dreadful thing went. I had it just yesterday! It couldn't have just grown legs and walked away," she ranted. "I was certain I put it back under the sink!"

"Well don't you worry, Mrs. Hudson! I'll find it for you?"

"You will? How sweet of you! Would you like something to eat while you search? Perhaps some biscuits?" she followed John into the kitchen.

"Sure!" John said. "I'd love for some chocolate milk with the biscuits, too. Oh, and Sherlock said to make him some tea."

John began to search every inch of the kitchen. He had to work around Mr. Hudson, who was busy making biscuits and tea. She was muttering, "...thinks I'm his bloody housekeeper…"

John took a break from searching. He ran the tea up to Sherlock.

"Here you go!" John sat the tea cup next to Sherlock and his microscope.

"Thanks John. How's the investigation going?" he asked.

"Fine. I found a spoon under Mrs. Hudson's fridge and a plate squished between two cereal boxes. I'm sure the pan will show up soon!"

"Good luck," Sherlock called as John left once again. To add to his break, John sat with Mrs. Hudson and ate biscuits. After five biscuits and the formation of a milk mustache, John returned to work.

He began to check in the pantry. He dragged a kitchen chair into the small room so he could reach the top shelves. As he pushed aside a waffle iron, John saw the pan. He grabbed it with excitement and jumped off his chair. He ran up to Mrs. Hudson and presented it, his face beaming with pride. "Mrs. Hudson! I found it!" he exclaimed. His elbows were bent and his fists rested on his hips. He was standing in his 'hero' pose.

"Look at that! That you, dear! You really are brilliant. Feel free to come by for biscuits anytime. Wonderful!" She leaned over and gave John a kiss on the forehead.

"Ewww," John said, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. Mrs. Hudson giggled in response.

* * *

"Sherlock, I solved it!" John said as he entered the flat.

"Did you? Good job. What now?" Sherlock asked. He scribbled on a sheet of paper next to his microscope.

"Hmmm. I don't know. Have you heard of any more 'damsels in distress'?" John asked.

Sherlock chuckled. He was pretty sure John didn't even know what that meant. "I don't think I've heard of any lately. I hear that the knights from the barracks have that situation under control."

John laughed lightly, only understanding partially. "I need to go to the shop," Sherlock said, abandoning his work. "D'you want to come with or stay with Mrs. Hudson?"

"I think I'll go with you," John said. Sherlock pulled his coat and scarf on, and then guided John's arms through his own jacket sleeves.

* * *

Sherlock was pushing the cart in the store with John walking beside him.

"What kind of cereal do you want?" Sherlock asked.

"How about… this one?" John picked up a chocolate cereal.

"Do you know how much sugar is in that?" Sherlock said, looking at the nutrition label.

"Yeah, but it's good…"

"Well, I guess it's okay. But next time, we are getting one that has less sugar," Sherlock said firmly. He tossed the cereal into the cart and kept walking. "Let's go check out," Sherlock steered the cart in a line behind a cashier.

John was watching the people in line before them. There was a middle-aged woman standing with a man. She was digging through her purse. John noticed something fall. On the ground near the woman's feet was a five-pound note.

John reached down and picked up the note. "Ms?" John tugged on the woman's sleeve.

"Yes?" She asked, looking down to see John.

"You dropped this," John handed her the note.

"Oh! Thank you dear!" the woman looked at a smile Sherlock. "You sure have raised him right!" she said with a laugh.

"Thanks," Sherlock said, still grinning.

"Sherlock, you see? I'm going to be a great detective one day!"

"What happened to being a doctor? I'm sure you'll make a great detective, if you choose to be one," Sherlock said, ruffling John's hair, who giggled in response.


	17. Trouble Begins

Chapter Seventeen

Sherlock came home from work filled with anxiety. He had solved a pressing case, which was great, but_ Moriarty_ was mentioned by the criminal. Again. This was the third time that man's name was mentioned. Sherlock felt like he was doing everything Moriarty wanted. He was a puppeteer, using Sherlock like a puppet.

"Hi, Sherlock!" John greeted Sherlock from the couch. "How was work?"

"It was fine," Sherlock said. He didn't need to worry John. "What are you up to?" he asked, hanging up his scarf and coat.

"I'm writing a story. Well I'm trying," John said. His voice sounded happy, but frustrated.

"What's your story going to be about?" Sherlock sat next to John on the couch, looking at the notebook he was holding. The paper was blank of writing, but in the margins there were doodles of dogs, food, giraffes, and TV characters.

"I dunno. My teacher told us to write a short story before class on Monday, but I don't know what to write about."

"Hmm," Sherlock said. "That's a problem. Do you have any ideas?"

"Not really. I'd like to have a dragon in it. I like dragons," John giggled.

"Why don't you write about a boy who has a pet dragon?" Sherlock suggest.

"Oooh, cool," John awed. "But dragons are really big. I don't think you can keep a pet that big in a house."

"That's true. I like your thinking," Sherlock tapped John on the nose playfully. "How about… the boy has a puppy-sized dragon?"

"That's great!" John gasped. "Thanks Sherlock!" John began to scribble on the paper. Sherlock smiled and went to the kitchen to make dinner.

* * *

Sherlock woke up to his phone buzzing on his nightstand. He picked it up, flipped it open, and held it to his ear. "Hello?" he asked groggily.

"Sherlock," Lestrade's voice said. "We need you down at the yard. Moriarty has appeared." Sherlock said he'd be there in ten and sat up, fully awake. He dressed quickly and peeked his head into John's room. It was only six, and not a school day, so John was fast asleep. He went into the living room and left a note for John when he woke up.

He hailed a cab and rushed to Scotland Yard. When he arrived, policemen were bustling all around the station. "Good, Sherlock, you're here," Lestrade said, pushing his way through uniformed men.

"Where's Moriarty? What's he done?" Sherlock asked quickly.

"Come with me. You'll want to see this," Lestrade said. He turned and went into his office, Sherlock following closely. Lestrade stood behind his computer for a moment then turned the screen to face Sherlock.

Sherlock leaned over the desk and watched as Lestrade played a security tape. On the tape a man was standing in front of the Crown Jewels in a bulletproof case. He was dancing to unheard music and had a manila envelope tucked under his arm. He wrote on the glass case "Get Sherlock" with a smiley face in the 'O'. Lestrade stopped the video and returned his monitor to its original place.

"What do you think?" Lestrade asked.

"I think," Sherlock began his voice thick with stress and frustration, "that I am being summoned. And this man has a heightened sense of deduction as well, since he seems to have tweaked his clothes to appeal to my skills. This is no common criminal."

"Yeah, well I've noticed that," he said, "considering he stole the freaking Crown Jewels."

"Did he leave anything behind? Like that envelope he was holding?"

"Yeah. That's why I called you here. You're going to want to sit down for the Sherlock," he said. Sherlock stayed standing. Lestrade gave a chuckle and said, "Fine. Have it your way." He threw a manila envelope on the desk in front of Sherlock.

Sherlock picked up the folder and tipped it over. A stack of photos slid into his hand. He gave an almost inaudible gasp as he saw the first photos. It was of John playing on a swing. The next one was Sherlock and John walking on a sidewalk. Sherlock flipped through the pictures quickly. John playing with a friend. John going down a slide. Sherlock and John getting in a cab. The pictures seemed to go on and on.

Sherlock fell back into his chair and dropped his head into his hands. "I told you you'd want to sit down," Lestrade said softly. "Listen, I told you to come in because I wanted to show you these. You need to keep an eye on John. If you'd like, we could have officers patrol the school."

"Please do. I need to get home," Sherlock said. He was suddenly terrified. John was home alone. "Good bye, Lestrade. Send me over the case files and anything new you get." Sherlock jogged out of the station and hailed a cab impatiently.

When the cab pulled up to 221B Bakers street, he threw money to the driver and ran up to his flat, taking steps two at a time. His hand shook and made it difficult to get his key in the door. When he opened it, he felt relief. John was sitting on the couch, writing sloppily in his notebook. He looked up at Sherlock and smiled, "Hi Sherlock! How was work?"


	18. Anxiety, Dog-Sized Dragons, and Moriarty

Chapter Eighteen

Sherlock was pacing in front of the couch. John should be home any minute now from school. It's been a week since Lestrade gave Sherlock the warning about Moriarty watching John. Lestrade has helped Sherlock in every way that he could. He had members of the Yard patrolling the school and inconspicuously watching John to, from, and at school. He sent Sherlock everything from the case so that he wouldn't have to leave 221B.

"Hi Sherlock," John said happily as he walked in the door. "What're you doing?"

"Oh, um, nothing. I was just about to look as some files from work," Sherlock sat down in an armchair to make it look like he hadn't been waiting for John to return home. John didn't know about Moriarty. "How was school?" he asked.

"Fine. It's weird, though. There are two men who roam the halls every day. One of them sits in the back of our classroom," John said as he sat on the couch and pulled a notebook out of his backpack. "Mary taught me how to draw squirrels today. She's really good at drawing."

"Really? Good for her," Sherlock said. He was flipping through Lestrade's case notes. He felt mostly relaxed now that John was home and in his sight.

"Tomorrow in class we are going to make butterflies that have matching wings. We're gonna paint designs on one side of a paper and then fold it over. Oh, Mrs. Flent loved my story. She loved the idea of a puppy-sized dragon."

"I'm glad to hear that. What would you like for dinner tonight?" Sherlock asked.

"Can we go out somewhere?" John asked. He had never asked to eat out before, so this was a small shock for Sherlock. "I mean, we don't have to," he fumbled with his words,"but Heroes Hamburgers is open, and um I kind of wanted to go there…"

Sherlock paused. He didn't know what to say. If they went out, John would be in danger. But on the other hand, John rarely asked to go places. If Sherlock were to say no, John may not voice what he wanted to do any more. John was really too considerate of Sherlock's feelings. "Sure. That sounds great," Sherlock said with a false smile. John would be in danger, but surely Moriarty wouldn't make a move while Sherlock was there. Sherlock could protect him. He was sure of it.

* * *

John and Sherlock decided to walk to Heroes Hamburgers. Sherlock had suggested that it would be nice to get exercise and fresh hair and John had agreed full heartedly. Sherlock's real reason for wanting to walk was Moriarty. He was afraid that the cab driver could work for Moriarty. It would be pretty hard to protect John if that happened.

"Sherlock, you're hurting my hand," John giggled. Sherlock didn't realized how hard he was holding onto John's hand.

"Sorry," he said, forcing a chuckle. "Won't happen again," he said, loosening his grip. John smiled up at him. His face was so full of innocence.

They walked in silence for a while. Sherlock watched everyone who passed by on the sidewalk and in cars closely. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. Even when Sherlock had been held at gun point (which happened quite a lot) he wasn't this nervous. His palms were sweaty and everything made him jump. He was always on alert, deducting a person's life if they were in a three yard range.

John stopped walking. Sherlock was pulled out of his thoughts and realized that they were at the restaurant. They walked in and stood behind two other people. "Do you know what you want?" Sherlock asked John.

"Not yet," he replied. He and Sherlock were both assessing the menu board attached to the wall above the cashier. "I want something like the number one, but in a kid's meal."

"Alright. I can do that," Sherlock said. He was still holding John's hand, which was unusual when they were in such an uncrowded place.

Sherlock stepped up to the cashier and said, "A number one in a kid's meal and a number three with just ketchup."

"Your total is shown on screen. How will you be paying today, sir?"

"Cash," Sherlock reached into his pocket and retrieved his wallet. He let go of John's hand so he could get the money for the food. He completed the transaction and took a number to set on their table. After a few minutes a man brought them their food and took the number away.

"Thank you for taking me here today, Sherlock," John said with hamburger in his mouth.

"Don't worry about it. You know, whenever you want to eat out, you can tell me."

"I know," John smiled with ketchup on the side of his mouth. Sherlock returned his smile and wiped the ketchup off with a napkin.

"Sherlock… What wrong?" John asked a minute later. His voice was sad.

"Hmm? What do you mean? Nothing's wrong," Sherlock replied. He set his burger down and looked at John.

"You haven't gone to work since Saturday. You've hardly left the flat at all," John said. He voice was soft, like he was embarrassed. "You haven't talked to me a whole lot lately. If I did something wrong, you'd tell me, right?" John looked to be on the brink of tears.

"John," Sherlock said firmly, lowering so his eyes were on the same level as John's, "You have done nothing wrong. You're perfect. I've just had a lot on my mind. I'm sorry if I haven't been my 'normal self.' You don't need to worry."

"Okay," John nodded. He blinked his eyes to ward off tears and smiled up at Sherlock.

* * *

Sherlock couldn't sleep. It was already one in the morning. Thoughts of Moriarty danced through his head, taunting him. He worried about John. He wanted John to be safe. He didn't want his work to put John in danger. John's so small. So defenseless. If something were to happen to John… Sherlock didn't know what he would do.

To try to distract himself, Sherlock tried to think of just John. No Moriarty. He thought of the day he first picked John up from that temporary orphanage. He remembered how much of a nuisance Sherlock thought he was. Sherlock had been awfully cold to John when he had first brought him to 221 B. But then he realized how great John was. John had worked his way into Sherlock's heart before he had even noticed. Sherlock slowly dozed into a light sleep, lulled by thoughts of John being happy.

Sherlock was dreaming of John playing in the park when he woke up. Why had he woken up? He was about to close his eyes again when he heard a high-pitched scream coming from John's room. Sherlock bolted to his feet and ran as fast as he could to John. When he threw open John's door, Sherlock was horrified.

The man from that surveillance tape. Moriarty. He was holding John, one arm wrapped around his body, the other resting on his neck. With a knife. Their silhouette was brightened by the moonlight coming from the window behind them.

"Sher-" John began to scream, but Moriarty jerked his head back and place the knife's blade to John's neck. He smiled at Sherlock. John was terrified. His eyes were wide with panic and tears were pooling, threatening to fall. His bottom lip was quivering with fear.

"Please. Let him go. He has nothing to do with this!" Sherlock tried to bargain. "Please!" he shouted.

"Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Where would the fun be in that, Sherlock?" Moriarty asked in a mocking tone. Sherlock took a step forward. "Ah, ah, ah!" Moriarty shook his head. "Come closer and the boy gets it, Sherly," his tone was playful. Sherlock pulled his foot back to its original position. "Good boy."

"Just let him go," Sherlock said in a tense, fierce voice.

"Hmm," Moriarty pretended to think about it. "How 'bout… no?" He gave out an evil laugh, and in one swift move, jumped out the window, towing John behind him. It seemed to move in slow motion. John's face was in a permanent expression of terror and tears were falling along his cheeks. John's scream pierced the air. Sherlock lunged forward, trying to grab a hold of John. He tried to grab John's small foot, but it disappeared too quickly. Sherlock lunged to the window, leaning out. He looked all around. No one was to be seen. John's scream had stopped. Sherlock stared into the dark night that was eerily silent. Moriarty was gone. _John_ was gone.


	19. He'll Save Me Right?

Chapter Nineteen

**Sherlock**

Sherlock dropped to his knees. John was gone. Moriarty took him. He dropped his head in his hands, feeling a wave of despair. His breathing became jagged. He choked on a sob and wiped tears away from his eyes. He could do one of two things. 1: Allow the misery he felt take over and sob pathetically or 2: Allow the anger he felt to take over and use it to find John.

He slowly rose to his feet, wiping away the last of his tears. He put on a face of stone with no emotion. He couldn't waltz into the Yard sniffling like a baby. Gathering up the will power he had left, Sherlock ran to his room and dressed quickly. He grabbed his coat and scarf before hailing a cab.

**John**

Where am I? Looking all around, nothing looked familiar. I tried to lift my hands to wipe away the tears in my eyes, but they wouldn't move. I looked down and began to panic. I'm tied up with rope. I began to sob. Where's Sherlock? Surely he will find me and save me... Right?

"Shut up," a voice called. I looked up and blinked tears out of my eyes. It's the man that was in my bedroom. "You're no fun. I only have you so Sherlock will come. You don't mean anything to me," the man said.

"Let me go," I tried to say, but my throat felt tight.

"No one's any fun. Everyone is SO boring. Sherlock, though, he can be fun. I just have to play him right. He has the potential to be very fun," the man continued to talk, walking slowly towards me. "If you're worried about me killing you, don't. Well at least not until Sherlock gets here. You may live, but you may not," his tone was almost bragging.

I struggled to find my voice and succeeded this time, "Sherlock will save me. I know he will."

"Ha ha," he laughed, "He will find you, but save you, think again. The game has begun and you are just a pawn." The man knelt down in front of me. "_Pawns die, John._ You, however, are special to Sherlock and therefore, you are a special pawn. He loves you. You managed to work your way into his cold heart," he said mockingly. He grabbed my chin with his thumb and finger. "The chances you survive this are _slim to none. __Special pawns die. They die later than regular pawns, but, Johnny-boy, they die in the end._"

I closed my eyes for a second, trying to find courage. With all that I could find, I spit in the man's face. His smirk slowly turned to a frown. He wiped off the spit as if he were in slow motion. All my bravery left me. Why did I do that? The man stood up and screamed at me in anger. I squeezed my eyes shut and turned my head away.

All my breath escaped me as the man's foot hit my stomach. My sobs began again as I gasped for breath. I fell over and he kicked me again. And again. And again. I started to cough. The coughing wouldn't stop. Something was coming out when I coughed. I opened my eyes. My vision was blurry but I could still see the red liquid I was coughing up. I tried to look up and find the man. He was walking away from me.

"Sherlock, please save me," I whispered. "Please."

**Sherlock**

Sherlock walk speedily into Scotland Yard. He shoved his way past officers, not bothering to apologize. He threw open Lestrade's office door. He sat sleepily in his chair. Sherlock had called him and told him to get to the station immediately. He didn't tell him why.

"What the hell did you call me in for?" he asked irritably.

"Moriarty has kidnapped John," Sherlock said fiercely. Lestrade's expression turned from annoyed to panicky.

"What? How?" He asked, standing up.

"He broke into him room! He got away out the window. I couldn't catch them. It doesn't matter. We are wasting time!" Sherlock said, pacing. "Where's that envelope? Let me see it."

"Uh yes, here," Lestrade said, fumbling to pick up and hand the manila folder to Sherlock. Sherlock opened it again. He took out the photos and looked through them. When he found nothing, he turned them around and went through them again. On the back of one photo was a smiling face. On another, there was a chocolate bar drawn. On the last one, in blue pen there was a cylinder with smoke coming out of it.

"What else is there?" he muttered to himself. He picked up the envelope again and this time ripped it open at the sides. It was blank. "Do you have a black light?" Sherlock asked urgently.

"Yeah, in the storage room. Why?" Lestrade asked, confused. Not bothering to answer, Sherlock left the room with the envelope. He found the storage room and went in, closing the door behind him. He picked up the black light and turned it on in the darkness. He held it over the orange paper.

"Sherlock, what are you doing in there?" Lestrade asked from the other side of the door.

"Lestrade, it's a map!" Sherlock yelled back. Glowing in blue ink was a map. It was a map of London with one block circled. He pulled out his phone and took a picture of the circled block. Then he opened the door and found a very confused Detective Inspector Lestrade. "I think it's where John is being held.

**John**

My eyes shot open. There was a large 'bang' as if something had fallen. I looked around but saw nothing. "Oh Johnny-boy! Sherlock's on his way!"

"What?" I asked with a weak voice.

"I said, your precious Sherlock is on his way here," the man who was holding John captive appeared. He held something black in his hand.

"He'll save me. You'll be sorry you ever did this," I tried to sound strong, but instead sounded like I was going to cry.

"Haha," he laughed, "I don't think so. The fun has begun." The man walked with a happy skip in his step. His face was shining with joy.

"Who are you?" I asked. "Why are you doing this?"

"I'm Moriarty! Why am I doing this, you ask? _Because I'm bored!_" Moriarty yelled with a maniac laugh.

"He'll save me," I whispered, closing my eyes and resting my head on the ground. I'm so tired. I want to go home. "I know he will."


	20. Moriarty's Game

Chapter Twenty

**Sherlock**

Sherlock sat impatiently in Lestrade's car. The sirens blared as they drove towards an abandoned sweets factory. The factory matched all of the hints that Moriarty had left. Finally, Lestrade pulled to a stop in front of a large brick building. Sherlock jumped out of the car. Other police cars surrounded the building, and officers were drawing their weapons.

"Send some through the back as well as the front," Sherlock told Lestrade, referring to the officers.

"Yeah, I know," he said. He spoke into a receiver connected to his radio. "Here, put this on," Lestrade tossed Sherlock a bullet proof vest. Sherlock was about to refuse, but Lestrade warned, "If you don't put that thing on, I can't let you go in there."

Sherlock hurriedly put the vest on. He was losing patience. John was somewhere in that factory. "Let's go," he said. He removed a hand gun from his pocket. Lestrade and three officers entered the abandoned building.

They crept slowly through a damp hallway. Their footsteps echoed on the stained linoleum floor. They paused when two more hallways branched off the main one.

"You two, that way," Lestrade whispered, sending two officers down the first corridor, "and you two check down there," he sent the other two officers down the second one.

"This way," Sherlock said, pushing open a door. They walked into the factory's work floor. Machines lined the walls and a row going down the center of the room. The machines were rusted and leaky pipes lined the ceilings above them.

Sherlock turned a corner and gasped. Lying on the ground ahead was John. He looked horrible. He was wrapped tightly with blood-spattered rope. His hair was matted with blood and a pool of it sat next to his head. His eyes were closed, but puffy from tears. One looked to be turning blue.

"John," Sherlock gasped, running a few steps forward. John's eyes shot open and he smiled at Sherlock. Sherlock stopped in his tracks as Moriarty walked into view. He smiled and stood in front of John.

"Hello Sherlock," he grinned. "You've finally come to play."

"Moriarty!" Sherlock growled. "Let John go."

**John**

"I think not," Moriarty said to Sherlock. "John is a player in this game, too!" He reached down and wrapped his fist around some of my hair. He yanked me up into a sitting position. A small whine escaped my lips before I could stop it. I have to be strong for Sherlock.

"LET HIM GO!" Sherlock screamed. The veins in his neck were sticking out and his face was red with anger. Behind him, Lestrade raised his gun at Moriarty.

"I'm okay," I said with a weak smile. I blinked my eyes to keep tears from falling. "I'm okay, Sherlock."

Sherlock's face looked tormented. His eyes were filled with pain. "John…" he whispered.

"I can't let John go, Sherlock. Not until we finish playing," Moriarty said with a fake pout.

"What's your game?" Sherlock asked through gritted teeth.

"Well first off," Moriarty said, looking at Lestrade, "he has to leave. This is a two player game. With one pawn, and Johnny-boy has already claimed the pawn's spot."

"No way," Lestrade barked.

"If you stay, poor little John won't be breathing too much longer," Moriarty taunted.

"I can't lea-"

"Lestrade," Sherlock interrupted. He looked at him with a pleading expression, "Please. Go outside and put your officers on standby."

Lestrade was torn. After a moment he agreed. He left cautiously, looking at me once before he disappeared out the door.

"He's gone. Now what do you want?" Sherlock asked, gripping his gun tightly.

"It's really quite simple," Moriarty said. He disappeared around the corner for a moment and returned with a stack of folders. "Here," he tossed a folder to Sherlock. Sherlock lowered his gun and opened the folder, looking through the contents.

"What is this?" he asked. "A case file?"

"Indeed it is!" Moriarty answered mockingly. "Solve it."

Sherlock looked over the contents again. "It's the gardener. Why am I doing this?"

"Very good. You asked what the game was. I've got a whole stack of case files for you to solve."

"And what if I don't?"

Moriarty looked back at me with an evil grin. He turned back to Sherlock and raised his eyebrows.

"No. I won't do it! Not with him on the line," Sherlock growled.

Moriarty took two steps back so he was next to me. He knelt down and grabbed my chin in his hand. I jerked away from his touch. With Sherlock here, my courage felt strong. I'm strong. I can help Sherlock. Moriarty's hand was still close, so I reached out and bit down hard on his finger.

"Aaaghh," he yelled. He snatched his hand back and wrapped his fist around my hair again. He pulled me up, making my head feel like it was burning. I winced with the pain, but didn't make a sound. I need to be strong.

"You know?" Moriarty wrapped his arm around my neck tightly. "We could just skip the games and end this now," he snarled.

"No! I'll do it," Sherlock said, defeated. "I'll solve the cases. Just leave him alone."

**Sherlock**

What could he do? Moriarty had John. Sherlock had nothing he could do except solve the cases Moriarty threw at him.

"Good!" Moriarty said with joy. He pushed John to the side and he toppled over. His body was constricted by the ropes, so there was nothing he could do. Sherlock couldn't stand to see John like this.

"Just give me the files." Moriarty walked over and shoved the files into Sherlock's hands. "How long do I have?"

"It varies," Moriarty answered with a smile. "The cases get harder to solve as you go along. The first case, you will have ten seconds to solve. The second, you will have fifteen seconds. I'm sure you know the rest. Do you have a problem with that?" he asked.

Sherlock threw another look at John before opening the top file. "Ten," Moriarty sang. Jewelry store robbed. One security guard on watch. ("9") Claimed he was reading and the alarm didn't go off. Obviously he was sleeping on the job. ("8") The owner was out of town with his son. His wife stayed home. ("7")

"The wife did it. In this photo of the owner and wife in an interview, her left hand gives it away."

Moriarty nodded. "Next." Sherlock looked at John. His eyes were half closed and he was resting against the wall. He looked exhausted.

("15") Reporter murdered. Found in an alley. ("14") No money on his person. Assumed mugging, but wrong. ("13") Missing wedding ring, but his Rolex is still in place. ("12")Cause of death: three stab wounds. ("11") Coroner missed small hole in heel. Most likely caused by a needle. ("10")Real cause of death was poison. ("9") Not the wife. Not the lover. ("8") Traces of common household cleaner found on him. ("7")

"It was the butler. All the clues are there."

* * *

Sherlock had one more file left. This one was rather tough, considering that the police who investigated the case took undetailed notes and didn't dig too deep. There were, however, very good pictures of the crime scene and body. A president of a large company was murdered.

"8," Moriarty said. Sherlock was running out of time. "7," he reached down and dragged John to his feet. "6," Moriarty pulled his knife out of his pocket.

"I'll solve it!" Sherlock yelled, trying desperately to find evidence he missed.

"5." Sherlock paced in frustration.

"4."

"3."

"2."

"_IT WAS HIS FATHER!_" Sherlock screamed. "It was the father. He was jealous of his son. He had built the company, but when he retired and his son took his place, everyone liked him better. It was the father, no let John go!"

"Okay. You win," he grinned. He shoved John towards Sherlock, who caught him in his arms. "But don't think this is over."

Sherlock untied the rope with trembling fingers. When the rope was no longer holding John, Sherlock hugged him tightly. "It's okay, John," Sherlock whispered into his ear and petting his hair. John's tears were soaking Sherlock's shoulder. "It's okay. Sherlock looked up to find Moriarty, but he was gone.

"Thank you, Sherlock," John managed to say. He knew Sherlock would save him.

"Let's go home," Sherlock told John. John nodded. Sherlock picked him up and carried him out of that abandoned factory.

* * *

_I hope you liked the Moriarty chapters. I felt like the story need to have a climax, but the stories will return to being happy and sweet now. Let me know what you thought of this and whether or not I should do another one eventually. Thanks for reading!_


	21. A Day at the Park

Chapter Twenty-One

Sherlock was taking John and Mary to the park. Sherlock and Mary both held onto one of John's hands. John and Mary were skipping quickly to keep up with Sherlock.

"Let's play on the see-saw when we get there, Mary. Okay?" John asked happily.

"Okay!" she happily agreed.

A month has passed since Moriarty's attack, but John seemed as happy as usual. "Then we should swing for a while," John said.

"Yeah. After that, we can spin on the merry go round."

"Uh-huh," John nodded.

"We're here," Sherlock announced as they turned a corner. Across the street was the park entrance.

"Let's go!" John yelled with excitement. He and Mary ran forward.  
"Wait!" Sherlock told them, pulling them back onto the sidewalk. A car zoomed past. "Pay attention to the road," he said firmly.

"Sorry," John giggled, smiling up at Sherlock.

"Okay, now we can go," Sherlock said after watching for any more cars. The three of them hurried across the street.

"Can we go play now?" John asked with anticipation. His eyes were wide and he was practically bouncing with excitement.

"Yeah," Sherlock smiled and let go of John's hand. "Go play."

"Come on, Mary. To the see-saw we go!" John and Mary ran, holding hands, to play.

* * *

Sherlock watched John and Mary as they played. They made their way to the merry go round and Mary sat in the middle of it.

"Are you ready?" John asked, holding onto one of the poles.

"Uh-huh," Mary answered excitedly.

"Okay…" John began to run, pulling on the merry go round's pole to make it spin. His bare feet were digging up dirt as he dashed in circle. He ran around about six times when he let go. He ran forward a few dizzy steps and stumbled onto the ground.

"John!" Sherlock jogged over to where John sat. "John, are you alright?" he asked

"I'm okay," John said with a grin. In the background, Mary was screaming with joy as the merry go round spun her. "I just stubbed my toe!"

"Okay," Sherlock said, helping John to his feet. "Don't be so reckless," Sherlock muttered as he took his place leaning against a tree again.

* * *

"Sheeeerlock," Mary called. "Sheeeeeeerlooooock?"

"Yeah? What d'you need?" Sherlock asked wearily. He walked over to John and Mary who were sitting on swings.

"Will you push us?" John asked.

"Please?" Mary added.

"Alright. I'll get John started, then move to you, okay Mary?"

"Uh-huh," she agreed.

Sherlock walked behind John and started to push him. When he could keep himself swinging, he started to push Mary. Sherlock pushed them on the swings until they were too tired to swing their feet anymore.

"Ready to go home?" Sherlock asked them.

"Yeah," John said with a yawn. Mary nodded tiredly.

"Come on then," he took both of their hands and they started the walk back to 221B Bakers Street.


	22. Meeting with Molly

Chapter Twenty-Two

I walked slowly towards John's school. I promised him that I'd pick him up today, but I didn't feel like taking a cab. I walked from Bart's. Molly had been helping me out on a case. In order to solve it, though, I would need the results from blood tests, which Molly was working on getting.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. "Yes?" I asked into the phone.

"Um, hi Sherlock. It's Molly. I talked to the lab and they said that they would have the results in on Friday," Molly said.

"Great, I'll pick them up on Friday," I said. He pulled the phone away from his ear, preparing to end the call.

"Uh, wait!" Molly's voice called. I put the phone back to my ear.

"Yeah?" I asked wearily. Her nervousness could be heard in her voice.

"I actually won't be in on Friday, so I um, was wondering if you'd like to maybe, uh, go to dinner someplace and I could give the results to you?" she stumbled shyly.

"What?" I asked in a confused tone. I had heard what she said, but didn't understand her trouble saying it.

"I mean if you don't want to-"

"No, that's fine, but Mrs. Hudson is at her son's this week. I don't have anyone to watch John," I told her. I was nearing John's school. Only one more block to go.

"Oh," Molly said with happy surprise. "Well you can bring him along, too!"

"Alright. I'll see you on Friday. Text me the details," I said, ending the call. I approached John's school. Three teachers, one man and two women, stood with the line of kids getting picked up by their parents. They each had name tags on, and by looking at Mr. Ralling's top shirt button and Mrs. Somah's left sock, it was obvious that they were 'seeing' each other.

"Sherlock!" John called, happily running to me.

"Hey, John. I told you that I'd pick you up. Don't look so shocked," I said, ruffling his hair. He had pen ink on his right ear, probably from the project he told me they would be working on. On his pants was a small smudge from a glue stick.

"I don't mean to sound surprised," he giggled. "I'm just happy to see you. Oh, bye Mary!" John turned and waved at his friend who was getting in a black van. I looked through the passenger window to see her father driving. Mary had the same high cheekbones and wide blue eyes as her father. Glancing at his vest pocket and cards in the passenger's seat, I could tell that he belonged to a regiment, most likely an Indian regiment.I waved in acknowledgement at him before he drove away. In the back seat Mary waved to John.

"Ready to go home?" I asked John.

"Yup!" he grinned. He locked his hand in mine and westarted the walk back to 221B.

"A co-worker of mine has invited me to dinner on Friday so we can take care of a case. Do you mind coming along?" I asked him, thinking of Molly's phone call.

"No, that's fine," John said. "Is she your girlfriend?" he questioned innocently.

"What? No," I answered. "Just a co-worker."

"Okaaaay," John sang in a 'I-don't-believe-you' tone.

"She's not my girlfriend," I assured.

"Fine," John laughed. "I just kidding with you."

* * *

"John," Sherlock called from the couch. "Get ready. We're leaving soon."

"Alright!" John yelled from his room. "I'll be ready in a minute." A moment later, John appeared in the living room with a red sweater and black pants on. He and Sherlock were supposed to meet Molly at the restaurant in an hour. "Where are we going, again?" John asked, sitting next to Sherlock on the sofa.

"That restaurant by Scotland Yard," Sherlock answered. He was going through the case file Lestrade had given him the week before. He needed to get the DNA results from Molly before he could solve it. That was the only reason he was going to dinner with her.

"Is that the really fancy one?" John looked over Sherlock's shoulder at the file. Sherlock covered up the photos of the murdered victim.

"Uh-huh. Well, it's moderately nice," Sherlock said. He closed the file and looked at John. Furlock had jumped into his lap; John was stroking the purring cat's back lightly. "John, you're going to get fur on your pants," Sherlock scolded.

"Sorry!" John giggled. He picked Furlock up and set him on the couch next to him. His black pants were now grey from the knees up. "I forgot about that," John said sheepishly.

"Come here," Sherlock told him. He bent down on one knee so he was on the same level as John. Using a lint roller, he removed the cat hair from John's pants. "Now, are you ready to go?"

"Yeah," John answered. "I think so."

"Alright. We should get going then," Sherlock said. He pulled on his coat and scarf and followed John out the door of 221B Bakers Street.

* * *

"We have a reservation for Holmes," Sherlock told the restaurant's host. He looked at a list on his podium and smiled at John and Sherlock.  
"Yes, right this way, sir," he said, picking up two menus. He walked through the dimly lit room and led them to a small booth near the corner. John scooted into one side of the booth and Sherlock sat next to him. "Your waiter will be with you shortly," the host sat down the three menus and walked away.

"Hahaha! The seats are bouncy!" John giggled, bouncing up and down in the booth. He looked up at Sherlock with a carefree grin.

"John, please behave," Sherlock said, fighting off a smile. John stopped bouncing and his grin faded away. "But you are right, John. The seat is rather… bouncy," Sherlock said. John's smile returned and the corners of Sherlock's mouth turned up. He couldn't help smiling.

"There's Molly," John said, pointing behind Sherlock. Sherlock turned to see Molly walking towards the table. She had a shy smile on her bright red face and wore a short purple dress. "Hi Molly!" John waved and smiled at her.  
"Hi there, John. Hello Sherlock," she said nervously as she sat down. Being around Sherlock always made her nervous.

"Good evening, I'm Jane and I'll be your waitress today," a woman interrupted. She stood in front of the booth holding a small black book. Her yellow hair was pulled into a bun.

"Ah, hello," Molly greeted with a smile. Jane the waitress didn't answer, her eyes were fixed on Sherlock's face.

She looked at Sherlock with a large grin and asked, "What can I get you to drink today?" Her eyelashes fluttered quickly as she looked at him.

"A water for me," Sherlock said without emotion. He had opened his menu and was looking over the choices. He wasn't too hungry, considering he was still on a case. When Sherlock was on a case, he hardly had to eat at all.

"Me , too," John said.

"Alright," Jane nodded, writing in her black book. "And for you?" she asked Molly with a less than friendly tone.

"An iced tea, please," Molly answered. Jane nodded and walked away.

"You've got the results for the DNA tests, correct?" Sherlock asked, lowering his menu. Molly blushed at his stare.

"Oh! Yes, of course," she said, digging in her purse. "Here you go," Molly handed Sherlock a group of papers folded in half twice.

"Good," Sherlock muttered, looking over the results.

"He means thank you," John told Molly. John liked her a lot, so he didn't really understand why Sherlock was so unemotional to her. She was always really nice.

She looked at him and grinned. "I see, so has Sherlock got an interpreter now?" she joked.

"Yep!" John answered. He took on his 'super hero' pose in the seat. "I'm here to serve and translate!"

Sherlock chuckled, setting down the papers. Molly laughed lightly, too. She was partially surprised. She had only seen John and Sherlock together a couple of times, but it continued to amazed her how much Sherlock changed when he was around his adopted son. Before John came into Sherlock's life, Molly could count the times she heard him laugh on one hand (and most of those had to do with a new lead in a case).

"So did you find what you needed in the reports?" Molly asked. She was starting to feel more relaxed. John seemed to have that effect on people.

"Huh? Oh, yes," Sherlock nodded. "Just as I thought, the victim was shot in the head and was assumed to be suicide, but the actual cause of death was poison. It was found in the blood stream in the reports, but nobody paid any attention to it. They all assumed it was suicide, so they ignored the evidence."

"Well I guess now you have to find the killer, right?" Molly asked. She enjoyed listening to Sherlock break down a case as if it were as simple as counting to ten.

"I know who did it. I already texted Lestrade. It was the neighbor. All the evidence points to her," Sherlock explained. "Seriously, how did the police miss every single clu-"

"Sherlock," John interrupted. Sherlock was starting to get rude. "Can I get the kid's steak for dinner?" he asked, pointing to the kid's menu.

"Sure, John. Not a problem," Sherlock answered. He didn't continue what he was saying.

"Are you all ready to order?" Jane asked as she set the drinks on the table.

"I'd like the fettuccini meal, please," Molly said, handing the waitress her menu. Jane nodded and wrote in her black book.

"The small pasta bowl for me, and a kid's steak for him," Sherlock told her, gesturing to John. The waitress leaned over and picked up the two menus on the table. She winked at Sherlock, who frowned in response.

Molly let out a nervous bubble of laughter when the waitress left, "What was that about?" Her face had gone bright red.

"I guess she has- what do people say? - a 'thing for me'," Sherlock said with a shrug.

"Don't be so big-headed," John snickered and playfully slapped Sherlock's shoulder. Molly laughed at them. Dinner went over smoothly. When the waitress brought their food, Sherlock gave many subtle hints to 'back off,' which made Molly smile. John kept his self-given job as the moderator of conversation, much to Sherlock's amusement.

* * *

_As you probably noticed, I merged what would have been chapter 23 with 22. I was in too much of a hurry to update, but I realized that the two chapters should actually just be one. They are part of the same story, anyway._


	23. Molly: The Caretaker

Chapter Twenty-Three

John slid off of the couch when he heard a knock on the door. He was about to open it, filled with excitement, when Sherlock stopped him. "How many times have I told you not to answer the door by yourself?"

"Sorry, Sherlock," John giggled. "But Molly's s'posed to be here by now, so I figured it was her."

Sherlock reached over John's head and pulled open the door. Molly was smiling and fidgeting nervously with her hands in the hallway. "Ah, hello Molly. Thanks for doing this," Sherlock said as she entered the flat.

"Not a problem," she grinned. "You need to go solve that case in Doncaster, so I'm happy to watch after John."

"Yes, I figure it shouldn't be more than a day that I'll be gone, so do you think you'll be alright staying here tonight?"

Molly blushed deeply. "Y-yes, that'll be okay," she nodded.

"Good," Sherlock smiled. He knelt onto the ground in front of John. "I've got to go John, I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"

"Yup," John nodded with a grin. He hugged Sherlock around the neck. "Have a good trip!"

"I will," he laughed, pulling out of the hug and standing up. He tied his scarf around his neck and picked up his duffle bag. "Have a fun time with Molly," he told John.

"Uh-huh!"

"I think we'll have a lot of fun," Molly smiled. "I'm going to take John to the children's museum."

"Wow! Really?" John looked up at Molly with delight. Molly nodded.

" I'll see you two tomorrow," Sherlock smiled. Molly and John said their goodbyes and Sherlock left 221b.

"So what do you want to do?" Molly asked John.

"I dunno. When are we going to the museum?"

"In a couple of hours," she said. She and John sat on the couch.

"Okay. What do _you _wanna do?" John asked. "Wait, let me show you Furlock!" John ran off to his room, leaving Molly sitting in confusion.

"Furlock?" she wondered to herself. She looked when she heard John running back into the room. He was holding a black cat to his chest. Molly laughed. "Is that Furlock?"

"Yeah!" John nodded, sitting on the couch again. He was holding the purring cat on his lap. "I found him on my way home from school. Sherlock let me keep him."

Molly stroked the cat's fur. "Did you come up with the name?" John nodded happily. "I've got two cats of my own, you know."

"What are their names?" John asked curiously.

"Toby and Penelope," Molly answered.

"Those are cute names," John smiled. His stomach growled.

"Oh, are you hungry?" Molly asked, busily getting up from the couch and going to the kitchen. "What do you want to eat?"

"How about jam on toast?" John asked, following Molly. He purposefully neglected to mention Sherlock's dislike for him eating jam, considering he had had it the previous day.

"Okay," Molly agreed. "Just give me a few minutes to prepare it."

"Alright," John said in a sing-song voice. He skipped joyfully to the kitchen table to wait for his jam.

* * *

"Let's go to the dinosaurs!" John yelled, dragging Molly through the museum hall. Molly laughed and allowed herself to be pulled by John.

John stopped and gasped when a T-Rex skeleton came into view. "Woah," he said with aw. "Is that a real dinosaur, Molly? Is it?" he asked with excitement.

"Yeah, it's real," Molly said. She leaned against the fence in front of the skeleton. John came up to her side and stood on his toes to see over the fence.

"How'd they get it?!"

"They probably dug it up somewhere," she answered. "Dinosaurs can be found deep underground."

"Wow, why?" he asked curiously.

"Well…Um, dinosaurs lived thousands of years ago. They died out-" John's face fell into a sad expression. Molly was slightly flustered. "D-did I say died out? I mean, um, they live underground. They live near the center of the Earth."

"They live in the ground! That's awesome! What kind of dinosaur is that one?" John asked, running to another skeleton.

"That's a stegosaurus," Molly said, following him.

"Cool! Did it live underground, too?"

"Um, yeah. I'm sure he did at one point," Molly assured. John continued to run from each dinosaur skeletons until he and Molly reached the Egyptian room.

"A-are there… um… mummies in there?" John asked cautiously.

"Well, yeah. It's an Egyptian exhibit, so I'm sure they'll have one or two," Molly said.

"Why don't we go to um, some other place? Egypt isn't very interesting," John pulled at Molly's hand, trying to pull her away from the exhibit.

"What? But you know John, the Egyptians were pretty cool. Mummies were my favorite subject in school," Molly said.

"I… I don't want to go in there," John shuffled his feet. He mumbled, "Mummies are scary."

Molly knelt by John. "John, mummies aren't scary. They aren't alive. Come on. Give it a try," she took his hand and he reluctantly allowed Molly to take him into the Egyptian exhibit. "Look. This mummy isn't scary, right?" she asked, leading him to a display case.

John peaked into the display case carefully and hesitantly said, "Yeah… I guess he's not too scary." He smiled up at Molly, "Yeah, he's okay!"

* * *

John sat on the couch wrapped in his favorite blanket. He was intently watching a cartoon on the television. Molly sat next to him with a plate in her hand. "The cookies are done," she smiled, handing him the platter.

"Thanks Molly!" John said, shoving a cooking into his mouth. "These are really good," he said around the mouthful of cookie.

Molly settled into the couch, pulling an afghan over her lap. "Thanks, so what are we watching?" John mumbled something, but the cookie made it impossible to understand. "Hmm?"

"I said," he swallowed his cookie. "It's Looney Tunes."

"I used to love that show," Molly said, taking a bite of a cookie. "I haven't watched it in years, though."

"It's funny," John nodded.

"Yeah, my brother and I used to try to recreate some of the things in the show," she laughed. "That never ended well."

John giggled slightly, but was still busy watching the show to give more of a reaction. He and Molly finished off the cookies just as the Looney Tunes episode ended.

"Well, time for bed," Molly said, turning off the television.

"Can't I stay up longer?" John groaned, aiming his 'puppy dog' eyes at Molly. Molly almost gave in, but was determined to stay strong.

"Nope, sorry John. Go brush your teeth and get dressed," Molly said firmly. John walked sulkily to his room, and Molly smiled with pleasure to herself.

Ten minutes later, Molly went into John's room. John was lying in his bed staring aimlessly at the wall. "Molly, I can't sleep," he moaned. "Can I just stay up?"

"No," Molly replied. She sat in a chair near John's bed. "Now, why can't you sleep?"

"I need a story," he pouted. "Sherlock always tells me a story. I just can't sleep without one."

"Really? Well we can solve this easily," Molly smiled. "I can tell you a story. What kind would you like?"

John grinned, "Okay. Can I have one with a dragon?"

"Sure," Molly nodded. "Alright. So once upon a time, there was a dragon. He was a really large, red dragon. He lived on a _big _mountain all alone. He was surrounded by gold and riches of all kinds, but all that treasure couldn't stop the loneliness he felt." John watched Molly closely. "And then, one day, a small man climbed the mountain and entered the dragon's cave. The dragon was hesitant to be friendly to the strange man at first. Most of the people that the dragon had met were very unkind to him."

"The poor dragon," John whispered with sadness.

"This man, though, he was very nice to the dragon. Originally he had climbed the mountain to steal _all _of the dragon's treasure, the man met the dragon, and he changed his mind. The dragon just wanted friends." John nodded furiously. "So despite the dragon's hostile appearance, the man was nice to him. He pestered the dragon for days, trying to befriend him. Finally, the dragon gave up and was nice to the man. He and the dragon became best of friends. The end," Molly ended her story. John's eyes were almost closed.

"That was good…" he mumbled, trailing off into silence. Molly sat in the chair for a few more minutes, watching John's breathing even out. She tucked John's blue blanket closer to him and left the room, shutting the door softly.

* * *

"Good morning!" Molly greeted John as he stumbled into the kitchen with messy hair. He was rubbing his eyes sleepily.

"Morning," he grunted. "What're you making?"

"Eggs and bacon," she answered. She stood in front of two sizzling pans on the stove. She turned to John with uncertainty. "You like that, right?" she asked anxiously.

John nodded and yawned. "Can we, um, have jam and toast, too?" he asked deviously.

"Uh, sure," Molly said. "Yeah, that'll be fine. It'll be ready in just a couple of minutes."

"Okay. I'll wait at the table," John said, collapsing sleepily in one of the dining chairs. Moments later, Molly came in with two plates and two cups juggled in her arms. "You can hold all of those at once, wow!"

Molly laughed and blushed as she set the cups and plates of the table. "I was a waitress for a short period of time in college," she told him.

"Thanks for the food," John said after eating part of his toast.

"You're welcome." Molly and John both perked up when they heard her phone ring. "Ah, excuse me," she said, retrieving it from the kitchen.

"Hello?" she answered. Her face flushed and she nodded with a 'mhmm.' "Yeah, it's fine. Just get your work done."

John watched her curiously as she came back to the table. "Um, John, well I guess Sherlock isn't going to be home tonight," she said regretfully. John's gave a small smile and nodded.

"It's okay," he said. His eyes were sad, and his smile looked forced. It pained Molly to see the disappointment on his face.

"I'm sorry, John. There was another murder, but Sherlock said he'll be home tomorrow for sure," she tried to reassure.

"I know," he nodded, poking at his food with his fork.

"He said this is the first time you two have been separated for more than a day," she said awkwardly. "I know it must be hard, but don't worry, he'll be back soon." John didn't say anything.

"H-hey, have you seen that new Batman film?" Molly asked. John shook his head. "Why don't we rent it, huh? We could watch that today," she suggested.

"Yeah… Okay," John nodded, finally looking up from his plate.

* * *

John leaned against the side of the couch while Molly turned on the movie. He was once again wrapped in his favorite blanket. He wasn't too thrilled to watch the movie. He did love super heroes, but he was really sad that Sherlock wouldn't be home later that night.

He didn't pay a lot of attention to the film for about ten minutes, but he couldn't help but to get caught up in the action. He watched the television attentively, loving the action. Halfway through the film, John and Molly were both hungry. Molly paused the television and made popcorn, which John ate happily. He was entertained fully by Batman and the fighting, but when it ended, he felt sad again.

Molly, sensing his depression, said, "I also rented another film. It's a cartoon, and it is the top children's movie right now. Do you want to watch it?"

"Yeah, I guess," he shrugged. Molly played the film and replaced herself on the couch. John leaned against her side and watched the cartoon. His eyes started to droop, and eventually, they closed completely. He fell into a deep sleep, resting on Molly's arm. Molly blushed, but she was glad that John was comfortable around her. His innocence was reassuring, considering all the hours she spent in a morgue.

Molly watched television idly as John slept. She didn't want to bother him. He continued to sleep all afternoon, and Molly slowly joined him. She slept lightly, but was startled awake when she heard the door close. She looked up anxiously to see Sherlock looking apologetically at her by the door.

"Sherlock? What are you doing here? I thought you had to stay another night?" she asked sleepily.

Sherlock smiled softly. "I thought I'd save some time and just go ahead and solve the case today," he said softly so he wouldn't wake John. "I'm going to take him to his room," he gestured to John. Molly nodded. He walked to the couch and carefully picked John up into his arms. John stirred and opened his eyes slightly.

"Sherlock?" he mumbled, still half asleep.

"Hey, John," Sherlock said quietly. Molly opened John's door so Sherlock could enter. "I came home early." John smiled at Sherlock as he was set on his bed. Sherlock pulled the blankets over him and John's eyes closed again. He kissed John's forehead and left the room, closing the door quietly.

"Thanks for watching John," Sherlock said to Molly in the hall. She and Sherlock made their way back to the living room.

"No problem," she smiled with a red face. She picked up her purse and her small 'over night' bag. "It was fun."

Sherlock's lips turned up into a grin. "I'm sure John will tell me all about what you two did. I know he looked excited about the museum."

"Yeah," Molly nodded with a small laugh. "He had a blast there. I guess I'll see you at work, then?" she asked, her hand on the front door's handle.

Sherlock nodded. "Thanks again," he said as she disappeared into the hall.


	24. Anniversary

_*Note: I rewrote chapters 1-3 recently. I suggest you go back and read them, they're much better and longer now!*_

Chapter Twenty-Four

Sherlock was doing his morning routine like usual, when he glanced at the calendar. He set down the cereal bowl in his hand and took a deep breath, looking at the calendar again. Today would be the one year anniversary on Harriet's death.

"Good morning, Sherlock," John greeted as he walked in the kitchen. He had his usual smile on his face and bed head hair.

"Uh, morning," Sherlock said stiffly. He set John's cereal on the table and watched as the boy began to eat. He would have to tell John that a year ago, today, his mother died. He thought over how to break the news.

"What's wrong?" John asked in a curious voice. His unknowing eyes looked up at Sherlock.

"Nothing. Well…" Sherlock sat across from John. He sat in silence, aware of the small boy watching him. He tried to think of how it would be best to tell John that today was the day his mother died. Sherlock could practically deduce a person's life from just their clothing in the blink of an eye, but telling John this was proving very difficult.

"Sherlock?"

"It's just that…" Sherlock looked up into John's eyes. "Okay, John. Today makes it a year," he said as gently as he could. John watched him without understanding. "One year ago today, your mother died," Sherlock clarified. Slowly, John's face morphed into sadness.

"Oh," he said softly, avoiding eye contact with Sherlock.

"I could take you to her grave. You could bring her flowers," Sherlock continued. He tried to think of things said to help grieving people. 'Feelings' were not his area of expertise. "It might help."

John nodded. He stirred his cereal, no longer hungry. "Okay," he answered.

* * *

Sherlock held John's hand as they walked through the graveyard. John carried a small vase with lilies, his mother's favorite flower, close to his chest. They slowly approached the grey headstone with the words 'Harriet Watson' engraved in it.

John looked up at Sherlock with concern. The Consulting Detective patted John's back encouragingly. The small boy walked up to the grave and sat down the clear vase on the stone. He sent another look at Sherlock, and then started to speak to the silent grave.

"Hi, Mummy," he said softly. His hands stuffed in his parka's pockets. "It's been a year now….I….um, well, I miss you Mum," he said, tears starting to slowly stream down his face. Sherlock stayed back, not wanting to interrupt the boy. He thought that talking about his mother would help him move on.

"I'm staying with Sherlock, now," John continued. "He's great, but I really wish you were here. I'm in school. I've made lots of friends. My best friend's name is Mary. She's really nice; I think you'd like her. A lot has happened since you left. It hardly seems like it's been only a year." He sat down in the short grass, facing the headstone.

Sherlock waited patiently away from the grave, out of hearing range. He didn't think John would want him to hear his words. He watched the boy as he talked. He cried, looked angry, but he managed to laugh a little, too. He imagined that John was telling his mother what had happened since she died. Though Sherlock didn't believe in people remaining after death, and didn't think John's words would reach Harriet at all, he was glad John agreed to come.

John slipped his hand into his pants pocket, pulling out a folded paper. He unfolded it and looked at it. "I drew you something, Mummy. It's you, me, Sherlock, and Furlock, my kitty," he said softly. A tear fell from his eye onto the paper, smudging one of the crayon-drawn figures. John slipped the paper underneath the flower vase so that it wouldn't be carried away by the wind.

After half of an hour passed, John stood up and walked to Sherlock's side. His eyes were puffy and red with dried tears. He gave Sherlock a weak smile. "I'm ready to go now," he said.

"Okay," Sherlock nodded, taking John's hand in his own. They walked towards the street to get a cab home. As they waited, Sherlock couldn't help but send a thought of thanks to his step-sister's grave. For whatever reason, she had left her son in Sherlock's care, and he was thankful for that.

* * *

When John and Sherlock returned to 221B, they both sat on the sofa. They quietly for a while, but then John lost control of his emotions. He had tried so hard to be strong in front of Sherlock, but couldn't take it anymore. Tears rushed down his cheeks and his shoulders shook with his growing sobs.

The young boy crawled over to Sherlock and sat in his lap, burying his face in the detective's chest. Sherlock allowed him to and wrapped his arms around John's back, holding him close. Slowly, John's salty tears soaked through Sherlock's purple shirt.

"It'll be okay," Sherlock said softly, rubbing the boy's back in an attempt to comfort him. John continued to shake with sobs.

"I-I'm sor-sorry," John whispered when his tears had slowed.

"For?" Sherlock asked, unsure of what he was referring to.

"T-this," the boy hiccupped. "Be-eing w-we-weak."

Sherlock sighed when he realized where the words came from. John watched the detective all the time, so it's no surprise that he though showing emotions made you weak. "Don't be, John," Sherlock said firmly. "It does not make you weak to cry. It makes you human," he said, his last words quiet. John hugged his guardian tightly. He let more tears overcome him and soaked Sherlock's shirt further.


	25. John's Birthday

Chapter Twenty-five

Sherlock walked quickly down the street, glancing in shop windows. He paused to send a text to Lestrade (_What kind of presents do kids like?-SH) _and then continued on his search past more stores. It was almost John's birthday and Sherlock was unsure of what he would want. The Detective had bought him stuff before, but always with John's consent. He wasn't great at 'surprise gifts.' Even for Christmas, he had used John's list to Santa as a guideline for what to buy.

The Consulting Detective's phone buzzed and Sherlock read the new text. _Toys. At least, that's what Isabella always wants- GL. _

Sherlock could work with that. Surely he could find a toy or two that John would like. He pushed open a glass door to a small toy shop, sending the ring of a bell throughout the small building. He walked along the aisles, looking at stuffed bears, dolls, and small toys like slinkys and pocket checkers sets.

"Can I help you?" an elderly man asked with a smile from behind the store's counter. Sherlock glanced over him, observing that he had a wife no more than five years younger than him, he had done the crossword puzzle in the morning's newspaper, and that he was losing sight in his right eye, most likely from aging.

"I'm looking for a present for my…" Sherlock trailed off, unsure of what title to call John. The word 'son' vaguely crossed his mind, but John was his nephew. "For a boy. He's turning six this week," he said, looking closely at a 3D globe puzzle.

"What's the boy like?" the man's raspy voice asked.

"Uh, well he wants to be a doctor when he's an adult. He likes to play 'War' quite a lot."

"Well, we've got some nice foam dart guns over there," he replied, gesturing to the corner of the store. Sherlock went to the shelf of green and black boxes, looking at the set of plastic guns.

"Hmm," Sherlock hummed. He read all of the attachments on the toy, deciding John would probably like it. "Seems suitable," he said.

The man laughed lightly. "Does he have any toy army men? The toys are pretty simple, but I know lots of kids who love them," his eyes followed Sherlock over the low aisle walls.

"You mean these?" the Consulting Detective asked, holding up a box of green plastic army men. The man nodded with a grin. Sherlock pursed his lips and nodded, stacking the clear container on top of the box of dart guns. He then picked up a few smaller gifts and gave them to the man to pay.

"I got two boys of my own. O'course they're all grown up now, one of them has a daughter," the man beamed. The cash register 'beeped' as he ran an action figure over it. "They used to love acting out war with those little army men."

Sherlock listened vacantly and watched as the man's wrinkled hands carefully put the collections of toys in a plastic bag. "Have a good day now," he said, handing Sherlock the bag.

"You, too," Sherlock grunted back. He left the store, making the bell ring loudly on his way out. On his way home to 221B, Sherlock stopped at two more stores; another toy store and a bookstore. He wanted to give John something that would help improve his mind, not just toys.

* * *

Sherlock wobbled slightly on the chair he was standing on. Molly stood on a chair several feet away, but she remained steady. "A bit to the right, dear," Mrs. Hudson told the pathologist.

Molly adjusted her side of the birthday banner, dropping in down to the right slightly. "How's this?" she asked.

"Perfect," Mrs. Hudson clasped her hands together. Molly and Sherlock both taped down the edges of the silky plastic to the wall and climbed off of their chairs.

"Is John's cake ready?" Sherlock asked Mrs. Hudson. He straightened the stack of presents on the dining room table.

"Oh, dear! I forgot it downstairs! Excuse me," she flustered, rushing out of the room. Molly giggled at her as she left.

"When will John be home?" Molly asked curiously. She sat down at the table, watching Sherlock fuss over every small decoration detail.

"Uh, in about an hour and a half. I talked to Mary's(that's John's friend) father, and he knows about the party. It should give time for his friends to all get here."

"It was a great idea to throw him a surprise party," Molly said. She poured another cup of tea for herself and Sherlock, adding two sugars to his and one to her own. "It'll be nice. He deserves to be the 'center of attention' once in a while," she added. Sherlock nodded, counting the number of party hats he had for the third time. Though John had plenty of friends, he wasn't usually obnoxiously loud like the others. He was relatively quiet (as quiet as a five, almost six, year old can be) and didn't draw too much attention to himself.

The bell rang to the flat, and Sherlock rushed to answer the door. When he opened it, three kids stood with brightly wrapped presents in their hands. "Ah, come in. Come in," Sherlock said, opening the door wider. A blonde woman, obviously the smallest boy's mother by their cheekbones, stood with a smile. "Sherlock, is it?" she asked, shaking his hand. Her white fur coat dwarfed her figure. Sherlock frowned at it. It was much too warm to be wearing something as heavy as that, but perhaps she was looking to impress the fellow she had visited earlier in the morning (obvious by her shoes and lipstick).

"Yes, thank you for bringing them," he gestured to the small boys and girl.

"I've gotta run, so I'll be back in, say, four hours?" she asked, looking at her silver watch.

"Alright," Sherlock nodded as the woman walked back out the door. A moment later, Mrs. Hudson appeared with a large blue and purple cake. The mix of aqua and navy frosting made very attractive swirls on the cake, and in big purple letters 'Happy Birthday John' was written. "You can set it in the kitchen for now, Mrs. Hudson."

"Okay, sweetie," she smiled, passing him and making for the kitchen. Sherlock returned to the dining room where the kids sat playing some sort of game. Molly had take care of arranging their presents on the table's pile.

* * *

"He's turning the corner now," Lestrade said as he peaked out the window. John was skipping happily with Mary, presumably Mary's father walking behind them.

"Every, make sure to be quiet!" Molly reminded the room full of people. She looked at all the happy faced kids, about a dozen of them, and turned out the apartment light. She quickly hid behind the sofa along with two six year old girls. Sherlock stood in the darkest corner of the room, not _technically _hiding. After about five minutes of silence, John's happy voice could be heard muffled in the hallway. When the door opened, he paused in confusion at the lights being out.

"Sherlock must've gone ou-" John talked, turning on the light. He stopped with wide eyes when everyone in the room stood up and yelled 'Happy Birthday' as loud as they could. "Wha…?" John stood in shock for a moment, but then erupted into a giant grin.

John was almost instantly surrounded by his friends, all giggling and smiling. Lestrade and Molly retreated to the dining room to set up plates for cake, and Sherlock smiled proudly at John's surprised face. He hadn't been entirely sure that Mary wouldn't tell him, but it was obvious now that she hadn't.

After a good amount of time passed for the kids to socialize, Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson herded them all to the dining room. John sat at the head of the table and kids cluttered all around. Sherlock plopped a pointy party had on the birthday boy's head. "Thanks Sherlock," he giggled and adjusted the hat.

"'Scuse me, excuse me," Mrs. Hudson said, gently moving around the kids with John's cake in her hands. She sat it down in front of him and he grinned even more. He sat up in his chair, leaning closer to the six lit candles stuck in the icing. The room erupted into a horrible rendition of the birthday song, everyone singing at different paces and tunes.

"Make a wish," Sherlock told him. He watched and smiled as John closed his eyes for about half a second and blew out the flames. Excluding one candle, all the flames went out almost at once. The last candle took another two deep breaths before it went out. Everybody clapped and Lestrade pulled the cake near him, cutting it into small slices. Molly helped put them on plates, alongside a scoop of ice cream.

"Do you want to do your presents now or after cake?" Sherlock asked the boy. John put his chin between his thumb and forefinger in thought. He then looked at Sherlock with excitement in his eyes.

"Now, right now," he said anxiously. John moved in his chair so his legs were folded underneath him and watched with hunger in his eyes as Sherlock pushed the mountainous stack of present to him.

"Mine first!" Mary said, tugging on John's sleeve. Her father had given Sherlock the present when Mary and him had picked up John in the morning, so it sat near the bottom. "Open mine first!"

"Okay," John happily agreed. He carefully removed the awkwardly shaped green package and ripped the paper off. He smiled and held up the 'Nordic God of Thunder' action figure. "Thanks, Mary!" he gave her a side-hug from his chair.

"Mine next," a chubby boy said, pointing at a blue present. Sherlock was pretty sure that the boy's name was something like Stamford… may Stanford? He had previously noted that the boy had three different cats and asthma.

Gift after gift, John shredded the paper (which Lestrade collected and stuffed in trash bags) and held up the presents for everyone to see.

_Three puzzles, an action figure, three Rubik's cubes, two comic books, a game of Cluedo, and four stuffed animals later…._

"Thanks, everyone!" John grinned at all his party guests, his pile of presents in front of him. He looked at Sherlock and said, "Now cake?"

"Yes," he nodded. "We'll eat in the sitting room," he announced. After some instruction, the kids lined up next to the table and took a plate of cake and ice cream from Molly, and then went to the sitting room. It took about ten minutes to get everyone served and situated. Sherlock sat in his favorite chair and supervised the children as they ate, giving firm warnings when a couple of them were about to begin a frosting war.

He watched as John talked and giggled with his friends, using extreme arm gestures. The corner of his lips turned up slightly when the boy was acting something out (most likely something he saw on the telly) and lost his balance, falling over.

"I'd say your party was a success," Lestrade said, sitting across from the Consulting Detective. As he spoke, small cake bits flew out of his mouth. "The kids seem to be having fun," he added. Sherlock grunted an affirmative reply. The two detectives sat silently until Molly joined them.

"Great job with the party, Sherlock," Molly said with reddened cheeks.

"You guys helped a great deal, too," he replied, glancing over at Mrs. Hudson who was cleaning up the dining room. He looked up to see Lestrade smirking, but Sherlock wasn't exactly sure why. However, judging by his right pinky finger and eyes, he suspected it had something to do with Molly and him. The Consulting Detective ignored it.

"John! John!" a boy with cake on his face said excitedly. "Let's go play Cluedo! We can play it as a tournament," he said, mispronouncing 'tournament.'

John looked up at Sherlock with a questioning expression, silently asking if there was time. Sherlock nodded. "Okay! Mrs. Hudson can make the tournament thingy," he grinned, getting to his feet. He went into the dining room, followed by the other kids.

"Guess I'll go supervise," Sherlock sighed, leaning forward in his seat.

"Nah, I'll go. You two can stay here," Lestrade offered, looking at Sherlock with a small smile. He slid out of the chair and followed the last couple of kids into the kitchen.

"I think there's something he's not saying. Maybe he's got a case…" Sherlock pondered.

"I don't think that's it," Molly laughed nervously. Sherlock frowned at her with confusion. It took a moment before him to figure it out.

"Oh…" he said with realization. Molly blushed with a smile. Lestrade thought that he and Molly were… love interests? Sherlock laughed and shook his head, muttering, "Idiot." Molly's smile faded and she nodded along with him.


End file.
